























1 






A LIFT ON THE ROAD 



A LIFT ON 
THE ROAD 


By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON 

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AUTHOR OP “a BERMUDA LILT,” “SUMMER 
DATS AT VALL0MBR08A,” “MANT YEARS OF 
A FLORENCE BALCONY,” ETC. 



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THE A. S. BARNES 
COMPANY, NEW YORK, 1913 




Copyrighted, 1913, 

By Virginia W. Johnson 


©CI.A332873 

I 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I. A Lift on the Road: An Automobile Rescue 7 

II. The Lady from China 23 

III. A Lost Treasure: The Servant Problem . 69 

IV. Tying a Knot: A Sea Romance .... 91 

V. The Duke’s Flight: A Motor Incident . 123 

IV. The Luck of Friday 145 











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4 



A LIFT ON THE ROAD: AN AUTO- 
MOBILE RESCUE 


I 

The boy stood alone. Before him stretched 
a dreary expanse of country, brown, damp, 
and sprinkled with snow patches, here and 
there, and bordered with leafless trees. The 
sky was obscured by sombre clouds, threat- 
ening storms, and the wind, sweeping from 
the Alps, was piercingly cold. 

He knew the land well enough. He was 
vaguely aware, with the inconsequence of a 
child, that the spring would come to ripen 
rice and maize on the lowlands along the 
banks of the Po, and produce wine and silk 
on the highlands. Now it was the end of a 
tardy winter, and February had been rainy 
and chill. He was born further up in the 
region of forest and pasturage, at the foot 
of the mountains of Piedmont, and his home 
was a weather-beaten hovel of a hamlet in a 
narrow valley, where the sun did not pene- 
trate. Even such rude shelter was now de- 
nied him, for he had been turned out of doors 
by his step-mother. Deep down in his heart 
7 


8 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


was an anger that would last him through 
life, kindled on that winter day. His father 
had not interfered and defended him. Yes, 
his own father had allowed the cruel, scolding 
woman to have her way, and drive him from 
the roof with blows and curses. Indeed the 
need of all was bitter. Famine and pinching 
poverty brooded over the village in the win- 
ter. The father, pallid and listless after 
working in the rice fields of Novara, crouched 
in a dark corner, silent and hopeless. The 
brood of young children clamored for food, 
and when the boy took his meagre portion, 
the step-mother snatched it from him to give 
to the others, and pushed him out of the door. 
The father, shivering, with bowed head and 
inert hands, did not even glance up at his 
eldest son. Matters had comfe to this pass! 
He was driven out into the world by a hasty 
and violent expulsion. He walked through 
the hamlet. Nobody noticed him. The priest 
had gone to visit a dying woman. The neigh- 
bors, hunger-pinched, and cold as well, could 
not interfere. It was only the eternal prob- 
lem of these districts: too many mouths to 
feed. ‘^He must go away,’’ said the neigh- 
bors. 

Where? Nobody knew. 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 


9 


Fate, in gnise of a step-motlier, thrust him 
forth from the home nest. He was alone and 
friendless. The wrong of it was terrible, not 
to be expressed in mere words. The lad felt 
the full force of the blow. Should he turn 
back, and kill the step-mother with the first 
knife his eager fingers might clutch? There 
were always plenty of knives about. No! 
On the whole no ! That would not bring more 
bread to the household. 

He was a solitary little figure, standing 
there on the road. He was ten years of age, 
and had the thin body of a child of seven. 
His name was Carlo Vanni. He had walked 
for a long time, it seemed to him, and evening 
was falling. His broken and worn shoes had 
refused to serve him, at the outset; one 
dropped into the ditch, and he cast the other 
after it recklessly. His feet and legs were 
bare to the wind and the mire of the stony 
highway. His clothes, scarcely amounting 
to a covering of lean frame and limbs, hung 
about him in rags. He had no hat. He was 
cold and hungry. He was used to both 
phases of human sutfering. Where should 
he go ? He had no friends beyond the village. 
The cousin, Alberto, came to see them several 
years before. He was a sturdy, sun-bronzed 


10 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


man, and worked on the docks at Genoa. The 
lad wore a little medal around his neck, a 
cheap tinsel trinket hung there by his dead 
mother. This talisman, or holy relic, bore 
the effigy of Our Lady of the Snows, Many 
peasants wear these medals as old men. 
Pausing on the lonely road, the boy fumbled 
instinctively for his medal, and kissed it. 
Night was approaching, black, heavy, terrible 
night, peopled with countless terrors. Oh, he 
was afraid ! All Italy was outspread before 
him, like a map, from the rampart of moun- 
tains above his cradle, the mighty peaks and 
glaciers, and snows of the Alpine chain, down 
to the ‘‘heel of the boot’^ at Brindisi. To his 
juvenile ignorance the intervening towns and 
cities were only a cloud. Far away stretched 
Genoa and the sea. He knew that the cousin 
Alberto lived down there. Instinct stirred 
in his breast. He would seek the cousin Al- 
berto, and beg a shelter of him. 

Hatless, shoeless, and in rags, without a 
crust of bread or a penny in his pocket, the 
boy took his decision. He ran for the better 
part of a mile, still spurred on by the injus- 
tice of his rough expulsion from his own 
home. His limbs were nimble and fleet. 
Poverty is the mother of health, says the 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 11 


proverb. Carlo halted to gaze about him 
once more. The wide expanse of country ap- 
peared utterly deserted. Not a human be- 
ing, or cattle, a farm, an isolated habita- 
tion, or a straggling village, with a church 
tower, were in sight. Where could he stay 
for the night? Must he sleep without shelter 
of any kind, stretched beside the road on 
the bare earth? The pangs of famine 
gnawed at his vitals. He craved the morsel 
of food withheld by the step-mother. He 
should perish of starvation. Youth rebelled 
fiercely. He had a right to live ! He had a 
right to a mouthful of bread in the home! 
As the truth of his plight dawned on him 
he uttered a cry, a wail, a sob. Hark! The 
prolonged note of a trumpet reached his ear. 
His sharp young eyes discerned a dark ob- 
ject moving on the road. What was it? 

II 

Netty Beaufort was her own mistress. In 
this twentieth century of suffrage the young 
woman ruled over a spacious mansion and 
lands, in her native state, and journeyed far, 
as the whim took her. At one date, after a 
gay season at Washington, she was firmly 
determined to go into training for the career 


12 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


of an Alpinist, and become one of tbe first 
women to ascend tbe Matterhorn. Seated 
beside a Christmas fire on her own hearth, 
ensconced amid rugs and tapestries, she de- 
cided to visit the Nile, and winter in the 
desert of Nubia. Again the Mombasa Bail- 
way of East Africa, traversing the realm of 
elephants, lions and monkeys, suddenly ac- 
quired a fascination to her imagination of- 
fered by no other route. Just as she had 
fitted up her yacht to cruise around the globe 
at pleasure, the automobile claimed her for 
its own. Here was the natural solution of 
all previous caprices of a healthy, high-spir- 
ited girl, the petted, yet unspoiled, daughter 
of fortune. The ardent wish to excel other 
competitors in any field, and, possibly, aston- 
ish spectators, found a new scope. The mon- 
ster car of Juggernaut that has come to stay 
among us had speedily a charming mistress 
in Netty Beaufort. She studied the marvel- 
ous mechanism in its anatomy of strength, 
speed and resistance, then mounted to her 
post beside the chauffeur to take command. 

will christen my car The Swallow she 
proclaimed. Wings are not needed to fly 
east and west, and swallows are great trav- 
elers, as everyone knows.” 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 13 


She shrouded a beautiful face, framed in 
abundant blonde hair, and lighted by a pair 
of limpid grey eyes, in a cloud of white veil, 
and enveloped her slender and agile form in 
a heavy garment, then prepared to enjoy the 
latest phase of rest in perpetual motion once 
taught by Parmenides in the school of Elea. 
She felt very old and experienced in the ways 
of society and the world, but discovered an 
absorbing new interest in life as unfolded 
from a motor. Nay, the spice of danger 
added pinions to the Swallow^ s movements 
as hedges, rows of trees, hills and valleys, 
towns, and spaces of woodland spun past in 
a dreamy atmosphere of giddy unreality 
hour after hour. Already her diary assumed 
the proportions of an unpublished volume of 
personal experiences, crowded with miracu- 
lous escapes, delays, accidents and bad 
weather. Missiles might be hurled by un- 
seen foes across fields, aimed by poverty at 
wealth, by the weak against the strong. The 
whistle of a bullet in the darkness of even- 
ing, with the automobile as an illuminated 
target, was not unknown. Netty had been 
tempted to arm herself with toy weapons, a 
Liliputian dagger and a miniature pistol, in 
a sleeve pocket. She tasted all the thrilling 


14 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


excitement of reading the faces of a village, 
as the car entered a street, or the attitude of 
a group of laborers by the roadside, if good- 
humored or menacing, with a right hand 
clenched behind the back. 

This season she had shipped the powerful 
touring car, which was of the four-cylinder 
type, to Europe. She had visited the coast 
of Brittany, the Chateau country of the 
Loire, central France, and the Riviera in this 
leisurely and private mode which is the espe- 
cial privilege of woman, from Queen Mar- 
gherita of Italy to the most modest republi- 
can. Now the frontier had been crossed at 
Ventimiglia. The chauffeur, Jacques, was a 
tower of strength. Netty believed in this 
champion, and confided in him on all occa- 
sions, save when the impulse inspired her, 
with a mutinous curve of a small mouth, to 
have her own way, and defy him. 

The chauffeur was a small, clean-shaven 
man, made of metal, his complexion revealing 
the grey hue of lead and steel in his compo- 
sition, merging to shades of black in his rai- 
ment. He was impassive, inflexible, and 
proof to all exposure or fatigue. Had he 
not been made of iron, steel and lead, sheer 
masculine chivalry would not have been proof 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 15 


against the wiles of a constant companion- 
ship with the yonng American lady. Pos- 
sibly he evinced his chivalry in other ways. 

On the present journey Netty Beaufort 
permitted her brother-in-law and sister, 
Helen, to accompany her. Entering Italy 
she admonished Jacques mockingly: 

‘^We must he very careful of my brother- 
in-law. ’ ’ 

will take my chances, dear girl, if you 
will allow Jacques to steer your machine,’’ 
said Mr. Carter, easily. 

Thus the holiday party reached a dreary 
road, one stormy afternoon, coming across 
upper Italy. 

‘^What a dismal landscape,” said sister 
Helen. 

‘‘Sunny Italy, eh!” quoth the brother-in- 
law, pulling up his coat collar about his left 
ear. 

“There is a boy,” said Netty. “We must 
inquire as to the road.” 

Carlo Vanni saw, as in a vision, whether 
waking or sleeping, a great car, all polished 
metal and color, with discs of dazzling light 
on either side, and the blooming face of a 
lady looking down on him from a soft, white 


16 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


cloud of drapery. He was dumb from the 
very excess of urgent need of speech. 

^Hs the road good beyond the bend yon- 
der?^’ she said in glib Italian. The boy 
shook his head. ‘‘Just run ahead and see if 
there are holes or a break on the hill,’^ she 
continued. 

He understood and complied nimbly, 
speeding to the curve, scanning the distance, 
then returned with a gesture in the negative. 
The way was open and safe. She gave him a 
small coin for the service, a ventina, and 
the motor moved on. A pair of large, dark 
eyes looked at her wistfully and despairingly. 
She ordered a halt, strangely chilled at heart. 

‘ ‘ Ho you live here I Where is your home ! ’ ^ 
she asked. 

He explained slowly that he did not live 
there, and he had no home. 

The two were framed by the disc of light 
from the lamps, surrounded by the opaque 
obscurity of the deserted country, the lady 
stooping from her fleecy folds of veil, and 
the gaunt child standing below on the high- 
way. 

“Come, Netty, we must push on before 
night, warned the brother-in-law. 

She put him aside imperiously. 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 17 


Where are you going, child U’ she inter- 
rogated. 

^ ‘ To Genoa to find the cousin Alberto, ’ ’ he 
said, steadying his voice. 

‘‘Genoa is a long way off. How will you 
get there?” 

“On the road,” he stammered. 

She reflected a moment and then glanced 
quickly at her companions. 

“A child out here alone, lost or run away,” 
she exclaimed. “What if we pick him up 
instead of leaving him behind, perhaps to 
perish? Let us give him a lift on the road ! ’ ’ 

“My dear Netty! DonT let your gener- 
osity run away with you! A beggar, a 
vagrant, perhaps an idiot ! ’ ^ expostulated her 
relatives in one breath. 

‘ ‘ He must be a very light weight, ’ ^ she re- 
torted, undaunted. “Climb up on the step, 
caro.” 

He clambered into the car like a young 
cat. The motor resumed its way. 

“Are you cold?” asked Netty. 

“A little {un admitted Carlo, with 

a deprecating shrug of the shoulders. 

She spread a steamer rug over the bare 
feet and legs of this unexpected guest. 

The car glided on. 


18 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘‘Are you hungry?’’ she demanded, sud- 
denly. 

“A little {un with a faint smile. 

The luncheon baskets of the equipage were 
opened. The boy devoured biscuits, choco- 
late and a sandwich like a famished creature. 

“Were you ever hungry, Helen?” queried 
Netty. 

“I don’t remember,” Helen murmured, 
seeking a cup in which to mingle some syrup 
and water, for the lad must not drink wine 
just now. 

The chautfeur sat at his post, inflexible 
and silent, a man made of metal. 

“Were you ever hungry, Jacques?” pur- 
sued the mistress, pensively. 

“Often, Madame,” rejoined Jacques. 
“Pardon. Not another sandwich. He is not 
used to much food.” 


in 

The Swallow arrived at Genoa in due 
course of time. During the transit the story 
of the passenger had been fully elicited in 
naive detail. 

“I intend to help that boy,” announced 
Netty Beaufort. 

“I thought as much,” remarked the 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 19 


brother-in-law. ‘‘He seems to be of a me- 
chanical turn of mind. Make him a chauf- 
feur, and your slave for life.’’ 

She patted him on the arm. 

“You really have a good heart, Charles, 
although no one would suspect it. You must 
advise me.” 

“At your command, young lady.” 

“Oh, I dare say that I shall not need you 
at all,” she concluded loftily. 

The waif was speedily consigned to 
Jacques and the hotel porter. Lo! He 
emerged from the magical transformation 
of a bath, fresh linen and decent habiliments 
a pretty boy, brighLeyed, alert and intelli- 
gent. From the outset of this wonderful 
journey he had manifested devotion, of a 
fascinated sort, for the chauffeur and the 
car. Gratitude to the fair lady who had 
picked him up out of the ditch was timid and 
unspoken. He made himself a flying scout, 
running on ahead to inspect the way, gazing 
in the rear for approaching vehicles, oxen or 
horses, and inquiring at the farms for the 
tourists. Leisure moments were spent in 
examining the automobile, boy fashion, 
crawling under it, writhing about the wheels 


20 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


and zealously polishing plates and ornaments 
with a purloined cloth. 

‘‘Let me help/’ he coaxed, a brilliant smile 
revealing white teeth. 

Already he manifested that remarkable 
aptitude of adaptability to surrounding cir- 
cumstances which is a marked national trait 
of the Italian. Jacques spoke the Pied- 
montese dialect with him. 

The seaport gained, a fact became evident : 
Carlo Vanni had come by motor, and wished 
to find the cousin Alberto, who worked in 
the docks. The young American lady in 
command of the Swallow exacted of consular 
and municipal authorities, not to say the city 
of Genoa, if needful, a search for cousin Al- 
berto. Alas! The worthy man had emi- 
grated with his family, after a strike, to the 
United States of North America. What was 
to be done ? A council was held, with the re- 
sult that the boy was consigned to suitable 
authorities of emigration to be sent to the 
kinsman, with a further assurance of placing 
him in life. He detached the medal from 
his neck and protfered it shyly to his bene- 
factress. 

“I have nothing else to give,” he pleaded. 
“The lady is the Madonna, I think.” 


AN AUTOMOBILE EESCUE 21 


^ ^ Of a tender age, yet deeply versed in the 
arts of flattery,’’ said the brother-in-law. 

‘^No, no! Keep the medal until you are 
a grown man,” urged Netty. 

A whispered consultation with Jacques re- 
sulted in the substitution of a bunch of 
violets. 

At the last moment Carlo touched the 
wheel of the automobile lingeringly, then em- 
braced Jacques and wept, to the amusement 
of the spectators. Accustomed as he was to 
admiration, the demonstration of childish 
devotion must have been gratifying to the 
iron, steel and leaden feelings of the chauf- 
feur. 

Feminine sympathy suggested: ‘‘Would 
you like to send a message to your home f ’ ’ 

“No,” said the boy. 

Then he went on board the ship which was 
to take him by the open gateway of the sea 
to America. 

The automobile Swallow pursued its way 
in search of fresh adventure, guided by the 
capricious whim of the fair owner, after hav- 
ing given a boy, destitute, starving and alone 
in the night, a lift on the road of life. 



THE LADY FROM CHINA 


I. HOW SHE CAME 

To THIS day she remains an enigma to those 
who met her on the August afternoon when 
the disaster occurred. 

Was she a fragile, even shadowy form of 
invalidism, clad in Eastern fabrics of curious 
design, with her yellow hair suggestive of 
the perruquier^s show-window, her faded 
complexion, and slight hollow cough? Was 
she a keen-eyed business woman of the Lon- 
don market, interested in mining shares and 
gems, with relations everywhere on the con- 
tinent? She was the sphinx by the roadside 
in a commonplace world. 

‘ ‘ She was very kind, ’ ’ muses Harold Ben- 
ham, indolently, as, wrapped in furs and 
seated on a balcony, he gazes forth on the 
snowy stillness of the Engadine winter. 

^‘She was cruel,’’ sobs Evelyn Kemp, 
pausing to take her handkerchief from the 
pocket of her apron in the dreary ward of a 
London hospital. 

liked her,” chirps little May Benham, 
lifting the lid of a lacquer pagoda to take out 
23 


24 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


the china idol ensconced within. ^^She let 
me play with her toys and funny boxes. ’ ’ 

Leonora Benham turns her beautiful head 
impatiently, recalling that terrible summer 
day. She does not give the Lady from China 
a thought in the matter, unless it is to marvel 
vaguely if her jewels were real or false. 

She arrived at the Hotel of the Pines alone, 
and quite unattended, a tall, pale woman, 
sparkling with rich and strange ornaments 
above the average of modern tourists. She 
demanded in her sharp, cool way the best 
accommodations the house afforded, in a cen- 
tral position, and availed herself of the serv- 
ices of the domestics to the utmost extent. 
Sheer cowardice, as attracting the envious 
gaze of lean poverty, might make complacent 
womenkind shrink from public display of 
tinkling ornaments, but seldom does so. Her 
luggage, consisting of leather and metal- 
bound trunks, with massive locks and straps, 
was considerable, and a porter nearly disap- 
peared under a supplementary pile of wraps 
and bags. 

am told this height has the purest air 
in Europe,^’ she said to the obsequious pro- 
prietor, as she descended from the omnibus. 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


25 


‘ ‘ I hate the cold ! I have been frozen at Zer- 
matt.’' 

At the date of which we write the Hotel of 
the Pines was situated on a crag of the Ap- 
ennines, between Rome and Florence, sur- 
rounded by woods, stately fir, copse of beech 
and lower ranges of chestnut groves, once 
planted by monks around their monasteries 
centuries ago, and now fostered by govern- 
ment. Modern energy and audacity had 
fashioned an ancient guest-house of the fa- 
mous religious order into a resort by adding 
villa pavilions with ornamental wooden bal- 
conies, wainscot, railings and floors of var- 
nished and fragrant boards. The whole 
interior was threaded with electric wires, and 
chandeliers of tinted flowers of glass illu- 
mined salonsy dining room and corridors. 
A wide terrace with a parapet of carved 
stone and steps extended to the brink of the 
abyss, overlooking an expanse of valley and 
lower ranges of hills to the Mediterranean, 
where the sun sinks in golden glory beyond 
the horizon. Parterres of plants flanked the 
exterior, and steps led down to a lawn tennis 
ground, and slopes of encircling woods 
stretching away to the higher ranges of rocks 
and peaks toward the Adriatic. 


26 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


Thus situated, the Grand Hotel of the 
Pines proudly challenged criticism of the 
twentieth century, and advertised in leading 
journals that it was one of the finest and 
most up-to-date houses in the world, with 
telephone, telegraph and electric lighting 
throughout. 

The Lady from China paused and calmly 
scanned the groups seated on the terrace, 
smoking and taking cotfee, as she drew off 
one long, white glove. Her dog, To-to, a 
small pug in harness, grizzled and elderly, 
followed her example. The estimate of place 
and company of mistress and pet were not 
apparent. 

II. THEEADS IN THE WEB OF LIFE 

In the morning hours the Lady from China 
sat on the meadow and observed her present 
surroundings with the keen curiosity of a 
woman accustomed to the highways of the 
world. 

She was a strange figure in a flowing robe 
of shades of pink and green, with large 
sleeves falling over the hands, and embroid- 
ered shoes. Her yellow locks had been ar- 
ranged with fantastic exaggeration of braids 
and coils by the hotel hair-dresser, while the 
femme-de-chambre had been required to as- 


THE LADY FROM CHINA 


27 


sist at her toilette. Indeed, the hotel menials 
already regarded each other ruefully when 
the frequent and imperative tinkle of her 
electric hell became audible, with demand of 
complicated services for herself and the pam- 
pered pug dog. 

An alert boy in buttons had installed her 
in that open-air drawing-room, the great 
meadow, a realm of green verdure, sloping 
gently to a lower road, with a margin of 
woods, in a garden chair, flanked by a straw 
table and stools for bags and hooks. She 
scattered about her on the grass a flowered 
parasol, a fan and several shawls and 
scarves, as if she lived habitually stifled in 
silken tissues and draperies. Then she drew 
from a gigantic bag of the Imperial yellow, 
with a five-clawed black dragon designed on 
it, a mesh of work, wrought on fine ivory 
needles, pale in tint, with faint outline of a 
porcelain vase, holding a gourd, a citron and 
a spray of narcissus. Her thin fingers were 
literally stiff with rings, diamonds of the 
purest water, emeralds and sapphires that 
gleamed as she worked. Bracelets of ancient 
jewelry adorned her wrists, one of turquoises 
and pearls, with plaques of gold, chiseled like 
the front of a tomb, and another with a cen- 


28 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


tral place wrought to resemble the seeds of 
plants of the desert, in gold, lapiz and ame- 
thyst. A chain of large rubies, set in dull 
filagree work, was hung around her neck and 
fell over her dress. The scene was one of 
tranquil beauty. Peaks rose above deep 
brown ridges, alps of olive-green hemmed in 
by glens and ravines fringed with ferns. A 
group of silver poplars rippled in the breeze 
on the knoll. A smoke bush near the moat of 
an ancient tower spread creamy wreaths of 
exquisite delicacy. People strolled on the 
turf, men in summer attire, straw hats and 
white shoes, ladies gossiping over their em- 
broidery, and children at play. 

A modest figure approached timidly. She 
was a young woman clad in black cashmere, 
with neat linen collar and cuffs, and a small 
bonnet on her fair head. Her features were 
delicate and pleasing, lighted by a pair of 
ingenuous blue eyes. She accosted the Lady 
from China, who regarded her a moment, 
then motioned her to seat herself on a stool. 

^‘Tell me your history,’^ she said, not un- 
kindly. ‘^You are a trained nurse of a Lon- 
don hospital, I fancy, and seek a place. ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes, madam,’’ replied Evelyn Kemp. 
“The old lady I brought out to Egypt from 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


29 


England died. I should like to find another 
invalid. My credentials are of the hest.’^ 

‘‘No doubt/’ assented her interlocutor in 
her abrupt way. ‘ ‘ I may need your services. 
I have wretched health since the fever at 
Singapore. ’ ’ 

“You are from the East, madam?” ven- 
tured Evelyn Kemp, her envious gaze stray- 
ing furtively over the pouch and purse, 
wrought with the finest Chinese embroidery 
on the table. 

‘ ‘ My home is in China. ’ ’ 

“Oh, to visit the Celestial Empire!” 
sighed Evelyn Kemp. “Would there be any 
opening for nurses out there?” 

“Probably not. The adage is that to he 
happy on earth one must be horn in Suchan, 
live in Canton, and die in Hangchau. You 
are an honest girl, I dare say, ’ ’ with a touch 
of insolence in her tone. 

Evelyn Kemp colored and tossed her head. 

“I am well horn and educated,” she re- 
torted. “My father was a solicitor and be- 
came involved in heavy losses. We have had 
to seek a way of earning our bread. My 
younger sister has chosen the theatre.” 

“You need a career, of course,” said the 
Lady from China, listlessly. “Well, we are 


30 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


birds of a feather here. We are both Eng- 
lish. Who are all these people? Princes and 
dnkes and marquises at the very least, I sup- 
pose. Titles are cheap on the Continent, 
from our British standpoint. It is as good 
as a play to watch them. How the women 
shriek and laugh 

Warmed to affinity of nationality, Evelyn 
Kemp detailed the bits of personality she 
had picked up in the hotel from secretary 
and porter. Woman ^s wit came to her aid. 
The plump personage of complacent mien 
discussing with a learned German in spec- 
tacles the justice of the Greek and Latin 
races in contrast with barbaric criminality 
expiated by a certain number of oxen and 
sheep bestowed on families of a homicide, 
was President of the Tribunals. The lady 
in pink gauze and lace, with dark eyes and 
rather a nice complexion, surrounded by 
cavaliers, was a court beauty. The stout 
matron in satin was the wife of a rich banker 
of Eome. 

The stranger wrought her web of shadowy 
work and listened. 

At this juncture a man was brought in a 
portable chair by two guides and deposited 
on the grass nearby. A child accompanied 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


31 


him. The invalid uttered an exclamation of 
impatience, or indifference, and lowered his 
hat over his eyes. The little girl observed 
him anxiously. She gave an order to the 
guides, imperiously, to move the chair more 
in the shade of an oak tree, after which she 
proceeded to gather wild flowers and strew 
them over the invalid. 

A greyhound, incited by some children, 
leaped and bounded over the slope, the em- 
bodiment of agile movement. 

wish I could run again like that dog!’’ 
exclaimed the crippled man. 

The little girl patted his hand softly. 
‘‘Poor papa,” she said. 

“And I was so strong. Child, I was first 
at college in games, boating and gymnastics I 
Why, I was a trained runner before I had 
my fall!” 

A vision of loveliness appeared on the 
meadow, a beautiful woman in gossamer 
draperies of white. She was followed by a 
group of gentlemen. 

“Are you comfortable, dear?” she in- 
quired in clear, ringing tones, approaching 
the recumbent figure and at the same time 
defending her ruffles from the embraces of 
the little girl. 


32 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘‘Oh, yes,’’ he replied, smiling. 

The next moment she turned to respond to 
the caressing greetings of other women who 
flocked about her. 

The Lady from China scanned the new- 
comers keenly and questioned the nurse, who 
responded with marked eagerness. 

The gentleman, maimed by a fall in a gym- 
nastic contest was an American. The little 
girl was the only child. The pretty woman 
in white was the wife, much admired, and 
studying singing. 

“I am sorry for the man of the family 
with a musical wife,” said the Lady from 
China, musingly. “What tortures they en- 
dure early and late! No wonder they are 
driven to clubs, if not to the padded cell of 
Bedlam. So this beauty is all for music, 
too!” 

Mrs. Benham returned to her husband and 
perched a moment on a seat. 

“Now I must go to work,” she said gaily, 
consulting a tiny watch in her bracelet. 

“Don’t tire yourself too much,” admon- 
ished the husband. “Lenora, send away all 
those men.” 

“Oh, the Professor will take care that they 
do not interfere with our lesson,” was the 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


33 


careless response. am so glad we came 
up here, Harold. I feel that my voice is al- 
ready stronger. It is rather expensive, hut 
my progress is assured. Good-bye, dear. 
May, take care of your father.’’ 

Harold Benham sighed and leaned back in 
his chair, motioning the child to gather more 
flowers. 

The nurse, Evelyn Kemp, glided over to 
him and adjusted his pillows, pausing to talk 
with him quietly yet earnestly. 

The Lady from China watched her nar- 
rowly, then lured little May near with the 
aid of the pug dog. Soon the child was fin- 
gering jewels and silk bags while the owner 
made her acquaintance. Did she come from 
the States? Had she little brothers and sis- 
ters? To-to would like to play with her. 
What was in the other bag? Oh, all the bags 
were full of treasures in trinkets and puzzles. 

‘^Take this book and journal over to your 
poor papa, dear. They may amuse him,” 
said this eccentric stranger. 

She gave May a small Chinese book in a 
neatly stitched case of flowered satin, and a 
copy of the Pekin Kim Bao, the official or- 
gan, printed on silk paper and illustrated in 
black. May was delighted. She laughed. 


34 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


clapped her hands, hugged the fat png, as 
the animal capered sedately, and suddenly 
snatched away the bag suspended on the left 
arm of the owner. 

will take this bag to papa also,^^ she 
cried, and danced away on the meadow with 
the dog. 

The Lady from China uttered an exclama- 
tion and followed the truant swiftly, trailing 
a shawl behind her and dropping her skein 
of work. May darted behind a clump of 
bushes, roguishly, crouched on the ground 
and thrust one hand into the bag. 

^ ‘ Oh, oh ! ’ ’ she cried. ‘ ‘ I have found some- 
thing funny! What is it!’’ 

The tall woman overshadowed and 
swooped down on her, gathered various ar- 
ticles back into the bag, recovered her habit- 
ual composure and led the child by the hand 
to her father, where she motioned the nurse 
aside unceremoniously and presented herself 
to the invalid. 

May lingered, eyeing the bag. ‘ ‘ Only what 
is it!” she persisted with juvenile curiosity. 

The owner lent herself to the mood with 
good nature and drew forth a shabby, faded 
little sachet, with a squat doll of porcelain 
attached to the top. 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


35 


purse was in the satchel, and you 
were scattering my money all over the 
ground. I am a poor person,’’ she said in a 
tone of banter. ‘‘This idol has no value. 
See! It is ugly. The god of riches, Hotei, 
is seated on a hag of rice, you know. I al- 
ways carry it about with me for good luck. 
It is a porte-honheur/^ 

“It is heavy,” said May, doubtfully. 

‘ ‘ Stuffed with raw rice, darling, ’ ’ said the 
stranger, dropping the fetish into the depths 
of the bag once more. “I will show you no 
end of pretty toys in my rooms if you pay 
me a visit.” 

“The lady is very kind. May,” said Har- 
old Benham, courteously. 

“Will you read a Pekin morning paper, 
or this book full of maxims of Confucius, 
printed in Chinese characters? Who knows 
how much we need the wisdom of the East- 
ern sage on this mountain?” She made a 
gesture of dismissing Evelyn Kemp. 

“Wait for me at the hotel in an hour, 
nurse. Ah! We require diversion on a sum- 
mer day in this charming spot, and to forget 
our poor bodies. Away with drugs, narcotics, 
and new systems of medical treatment ! ’ ’ 
“She has such a way of ordering one 


36 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


about ! ’ ’ fumed Evelyn Kemp as she walked 
away. ‘^To interfere like that when I have 
my bread to earn!’’ 

She stung herself with the scorpion lash 
of suggestion as to the clever retort on sci- 
ence and skill she might have made, with 
suitable dignity, woman-fashion. 

Later the Lady from China sought her 
rooms in the hotel, with her dog, To-to, fast- 
ened the doors, shut the windows, and care- 
fully drew portieres and curtains. She swept 
aside a host of trinkets on a table, packets 
redolent of camphor, saffron, amber and san- 
dalwood, a string of Japanese Netskes, a 
candle made of the fragrant, yellow powder 
of Thibet, sent by the Grand Lama to the 
Emperor of China to burn on the altar before 
idols; and vases and boxes. She lighted a 
pastille stick, made of the ashes of aromatic 
trees, mingled with musk, and gold dust 
moulded into a pink paste, such as are con- 
sumed in the shrines of private houses, on a 
bronze dish, and allowed the smoke to fill the 
chamber, obscuring all objects. Then she 
placed the God of riches on a tray, ripped 
open the sack attached and emptied out the 
rice. A ruby of large size and superb color 
was concealed in the grain. 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


37 


‘^What a fright that child gave me, run- 
ning off with the hag!^’ she soliloquized, as 
she restored the treasure and the rice and 
neatly sewed up the margin of the sachet. 
‘ ^ Oh, if I should ever lose it, after all ! ’ ^ 

To-to hid his head in a jar on the floor, 
either to seek some dainty, or not to follow 
too closely the movements of his mistress. 

III. A BIED^S SONG 

Lenora Benham climbed the path. She 
was a pretty figure, alert, graceful and self- 
confident, in a short dress, belted, with neat 
grey shoes and a sailor hat. 

The hour was early, and the air scented 
with ferns and pines after rain. Below 
stretched the valleys, misty, yet with lights 
banishing shadows in the green depths. The 
heavens were of an intense blue, and such 
limpid transparency that the ether palpi- 
tated in waves of distinct vibration. The 
larches grew up to her feet, and the resin 
oozing from interlacing twigs and branches 
sparkled like dew in the sunshine. A bird 
soared forth from the heights, falcon or 
hawk, uttering a harsh note as it hovered on 
steady pinion, scanning the field below for 


38 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


prey. A tiny yellow bird hopped near in a 
slender acacia tree, with a timid chirp. 

‘^By what is a bird known F’ said Lenora, 
laughing gaily. ‘‘By his note, of course. 
^ Da che cosa e conoscinto un uccellof Per i 
suoi note/ So runs the Italian adage. 

The world was before her — the great, daz- 
zling, untried world! She had studied dili- 
gently at Paris, and was lingering in Italy 
for her voice, with the goal before her of a 
debut in opera next year. Afterwards en- 
gagements might follow at New York, Covent 
Garden, Berlin. Everyone praised her, and 
the stern maestro, who was such an unspar- 
ing critic, encouraged, while making her 
work hard. The morning air was bracing, 
the sunshine intoxicating. The mountain 
path was a stage, and the wide valley an audi- 
torium. She made a little obeisance of the 
theatre before the footlights, and breathed 
forth a note, which expanded into a roulade, 
and terminated in a pearly trill. The little 
yellow bird flew away, as if astonished. The 
great bird of prey hovered in the air, and 
circled overhead more slowly. What if it 
swooped down? She was not afraid. She 
would threaten the falcon with her walking 
stick. Then she shrank back, intimidated by 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


39 


the vast arena of the valley she had chosen 
for an audience, and continued her walk in 
another direction. 

A rivulet made a pool and a blackbird 
dipped into it and darted off. A youth, driv- 
ing mules to a neighboring quarry, halted to 
bathe face and hands in the water. 

Lenora climbed a steep way among the 
trees beside the paved mule road. The hill- 
side was sheltered and a peaceful region of 
seclusion and repose opened before her. A 
holly spread along the slope, and a boulder, 
moss stained, jutted out of the hank. She 
paused and glanced about her. Ah, how still 
it was far from the crowd I She felt inclined 
to laugh and weep, rejoicing in her strength 
of ardent aspiration, then sinking in reaction 
of doubt of ultimate fulfillment. Glowing 
health, beauty, life were her portion, the 
woman ; feebleness, pain and gloom of spirit 
the lot of her husband, as the man. She must 
act for both. Her voice was her fortune. She 
had always sung, like a bird, as a child and 
young girl. Had she not floated in a boat on 
the river in the moonlight with Harold, as 
youth and maiden, and won his heart by sing- 
ing the negro melody, now strummed all over 


40 


A LIFT ON THE ROAD 


Europe, ^^Away Down on the Suwanee 
River All that happened long ago. 

A man vaulted lightly through the hushes 
and stood before her with head uncovered. 

Lenora colored. Was it with pleasure or 
vexation I 

‘^How you startled me, Prince,’’ she said, 
come up here to sing undisturbed, you 
know. ’ ’ 

^^Sing, and I will listen,” rejoined the 
Prince, calmly. ^ ‘ Surely I may he pardoned 
for following so fair a singer, like her 
shadow. ’ ’ 

The platitude was commonplace enough, 
but he infused a caressing intonation of sig- 
nificance, accompanied by a glance of admira- 
tion all his own. He was a small man of in- 
significant figure and mature age. Scion of 
an illustrious Tuscan family, noted for his 
eccentricity and extravagance. Nature had 
lavished no physical beauty on him, accord- 
ing him a sallow complexion, irregular fea- 
tures and a pair of piercing black eyes. He 
needed no other embellishment than the dis- 
tinction of his rank to render him charming 
to the ladies. He had singled out Lenora 
Benham for his especial homage, and mani- 
fested a gracious interest in her progress of 


THE LADY FROM CHINA 


41 


musical training. The easy dalliance of sum- 
mer hours led to intimacy. 

^‘Sing for me the Siegfried bird song/’ 
said the Prince in a tone of authority, light- 
ing a cigarette. ‘‘The spot is well chosen.” 

She hesitated a moment, then ascended a 
knoll, gazed upward at the serene sky and 
the near peak of mountain, clothed in sombre 
firs to the summit, and rehearsed the bird 
song. She forgot her companion and lost 
sight of her very surroundings as she gave 
full utterance to the theme. Far, far above 
she seemed to hear an echo of her own voice. 
She listened, entranced. Aspiration in su- 
preme elation of human egotism buoyed her 
up to fulfillment. Was it a lark, the lodoletto 
of Dante, rising skyward? 

“Divine!” exclaimed the Prince, coming 
forward, seizing her hand and kissing it. 

Was she the feminine divinity before whom 
he half knelt? She smiled down on him re- 
gretfully, still transported by her own emo- 
tions. Ah, if her husband admired, appreci- 
ated her like that! 

“Absurd!” she said. “You must not flat- 
ter me too much. Prince.” 

Harold was usually silent when she sang. 

A pug dog barked sharply, and his mis- 


42 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


tress, wrapped in long cloak, appeared, 
gathering a nosegay. She turned aside to 
pluck a spray of wild roses. The Prince 
stepped through the bushes and vanished 
with a gesture of farewell. 

Lenora confronted the intruder, chilled by 
abrupt transition to earth from the sphere 
of harmony whither she had soared in sing- 
ing. She was hurried into weak self-defence 
before this stranger, another woman. 

‘‘My teacher insists on a morning walk 
and practice on the heights to strengthen my 
voice,’’ she said. “My friends will follow 
me.” 

“How trying,” said the Lady from China. 
“Shall we take back a nice bouquet to Mr. 
Benham, as he cannot climb?” 

Lenora bit her lip. 

“My husband does not care for flowers,” 
she replied briefly. 

IV. AN AIE CASTLE 

“Are you comfortable here?” inquired 
Evelyn Kemp, gently. 

“Yes,” replied Harold Benham. “The 
shade is delicious, and the quiet after all the 
noise.” 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


43 


He spoke fretfully and wearily. Evelyn 
Kemp regarded Mm with soft compassion. 

The fir trees rose tall and slender, densely 
crowded together, forming a dim vista of 
low, spreading branches deepening to black 
depths, and long aisles stretching up the hill 
in a sharply defined perspective. The still- 
ness of all Nature was inexpressibly soothing 
to the jaded nerves of Harold Benham, after 
a restless night in the company of pretty 
Evelyn Kemp. Occasionally the wind mur- 
mured in the tree-tops. Wasps buzzed mo- 
notonously as they sucked the turpentine ooz- 
ing in a yellow dew between the needles and 
the fronds. Bees haunted the edge of the 
wood on the margin of open hillside amidst 
the flowers of the ditch, purple heather, 
brambles, gorse, blossoming at the extremity 
of the stem, thistle and a tangle of creepers. 
A spring flowed in a stone basin with a mu- 
sical murmur. She filled a little cup of 
chamois horn and protfered it to him. 

‘‘Drink the elixir of health,’^ she urged. 

He complied and sighed. He was a hand- 
some man, large of mould, with a well-knit 
frame and fine features, now sharpened by 
illness and discontent. Ah ! She would show 
him what a woman can be in the mission of 


44 


A LIFT ON THE BOAD 


nurse. Was it not her place, her right of 
noble calling 1 In her own estimation she was 
the model of the modern nurse, graceful, 
pleasing, skillful, ready to adapt herself to 
family requirements as trusted companion 
and wise councilor. The average Sister of 
Charity, homely drudge of a Dominican nun, 
or sparse and austere type of the New World 
were not rivals to he feared in the sick room. 
Self-esteem and ardent ambition to seize op- 
portunity on the wing made her build an air- 
castle, in turn, as she busied herself minister- 
ing to the invalid in the shadowy wood, as 
Lenora Benham had done singing on the 
mountain path. Evelyn Kemp, a stranger, 
glided into the domestic circle by the open 
door of opportunity, made herself agreeable 
and useful, and relieved the wife of care in 
the preoccupation of many engagements. 
How would it all end? Only that morning 
Evelyn had reassured Lenora by promising 
to devote herself to her husband, luring him 
out into the fresh air and establishing him 
in the grove. 

^^How good of you to help Harold a little,’’ 
the wife had said, selecting a roll of music to 
practice a duet with a Eussian Duchess for 
the master’s concert. ^‘Are you quite sure 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


45 


we are not taking too mnch of yonr time^^ 
would willingly give my poor services 
to bring Mr. Benbam back to health/’ re- 
sponded the nurse with professional enthusi- 
asm. ‘‘Do you know I believe he would 
recover strength under the care of my friend, 
Doctor Brown, in his villa on the Thames, if 
he would go to England. But we will speak 
of that another time, Madame.” 

“You have such a knack of doing the right 
thing and remembering the trifles,” said 
Lenora Benham, meditatively. 

The nurse smiled. 

Left in charge of the invalid, the air-castle 
of Evelyn Kemp grew in roseate proportions, 
gaining parapet, turret and gable. She 
schemed to attach herself to these people, 
possibly cross the sea with them, and make 
new relations. She humored Harold Ben- 
ham, diverting him by that most seductive of 
all pastimes to talk about himself, his prefer- 
ences, ambitions, disappointments. He be- 
trayed his distrust of the career entered upon 
by his wife, not untinged by jealousy. He 
winced at the thought of contact with all the 
human machinery of the stage. Would she 
succeed in the difficult task she had under- 
taken? She could sing, of course. He had 


46 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


not the right, or the wish, to thwart her in a 
brilliant career f or which she might be quali- 
fied. The nurse readily understood, divined 
his doubts, and reassured him warmly. She 
was confident of Lenora^s success and bril- 
liant future before Harold realized the dis- 
loyalty of thus revealing his inmost secrets 
to a stranger. Installed as confidante she 
imparted her own history in a touching re- 
cital, and he listened kindly. 

Little May sat on a tree stump, sulkily, her 
presence ignored. At length she arose, bored 
with inaction, and approached the stranger 
who was engrossing so much of her father ^s 
attention. She surveyed Evelyn Kemp 
coolly. 

‘‘You are very clean, she said, critically. 

“I hope so, darling,” rejoined the fair 
young woman, smiling and accepting com- 
placently the tribute to the delicate fragrance 
of exquisite neatness of her linen cuffs and 
black robe. 

“You are too clean!” insisted the child, 
suddenly approaching nearer, with lowering 
brow and set teeth. ‘ ‘ I hate you I ’ ’ 

“May, donT be rude,” remonstrated her 
father. “Ask pardon of Miss Kemp.” 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


47 


The little girl made a mutinous grimace 
and sprang away up the path. 

A tall woman approached the spot with a 
pug dog. She came down the path beside a 
dried watercourse, which divided the ravine, 
as passionate sorrow spent makes deep fur- 
rows in the human countenance. Dead leaves 
had been swept in heaps by winter storms in 
the hollows; the accumulated drift of time. 
Fungus grew at the gnarled roots of a blasted 
tree, blackened and shriveled, and stumps of. 
hewn trees took odd and fantastic shapes in 
the gloom. She paused, her mood tinged by 
these surroundings. 

^Ht is like the groves leading to Buddhist 
temples in Japan, she soliloquized. ^‘Bud- 
dha enshrined in the East, and the sanctuary 
of some Christian saint here. Why notT^ 

A pretty butterfly in a white frock and blue 
sash flitted through the trees, and May Ben- 
ham, with a glad cry of recognition, hugged 
To-tOy the pug, and clung to the dress of his 
mistress. 

^‘She is down there, stormed the child, 
pointing to the sheltered nook below. ^ ‘ Send 
her away! My papa does not need her to 
take care of him.’’ 

^‘Ah!” said the Lady from China. 


48 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


She led May to her father’s side, and sank 
down on a rock. 

have been for a long walk, tempted 
by these delightful paths,” she explained, 
seeking a smelling bottle in the silk bag hnng 
at her girdle. 

She was an intruder. Harold Benham 
frowned slightly. Evelyn Kemp paused 
stiffly in her recital and waited. The new- 
comer was not disconcerted. 

^ ^ Continue your discourse, nurse, ’ ’ she 
said, mockingly. listen. I am all atten- 
tion. ’ ’ 

fear Mr. Benham may be disturbed by 
too much talking,” Evelyn Kemp demurred. 
‘‘He came here to be very quiet.” 

“Confucius admonished us not to oppress 
the helpless nor neglect the weak,” quoth the 
Lady from China. 

She played with little May, who searched 
her bag for sweetmeats for a time, then con- 
sulted her watch. 

“It is already high noon,” she announced, 
brusquely. “Nurse, I must ask you to give 
me your help back to the hotel. My wretched 
legs are failing me this morning. The cli- 
mate is too relaxing for much exercise. ’ ’ 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


49 


^^But I promised Mrs. Benham to take 
care of Mr. Benham in her absence,’’ said 
Evelyn warmly. 

The composure of the intruder was un- 
ruffled. She rose and took the young wo- 
man’s arm. 

‘^Of course. We will follow Mr. Benham 
in his chair along the path. His little daugh- 
ter must walk beside him.” 

‘‘Oh, yes,” assented little May, placing 
herself on guard. 

The nurse submitted with a sufficiently 
bad grace. The touch of the hand on her 
arm irritated, exasperated her to sullen re- 
bellion, then impelled weak self-defence be- 
fore a third person, another woman, as 
Lenora Benham had been actuated. 

“He is so badly cared for, poor man,” she 
said hurriedly. “If they are willing to in- 
sure my expenses I can take care of him 
quite without salary for a time, as a friend. ’ ’ 

“You are clever,’^ said the Lady from 
China, gazing straight before her. “You 
deserve success.” 

“I have my own way to make in the 
world,” was the response, half defiant, half 
appealing. 


50 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


V. A WINGED ABEOW 

On the following day the Lady from China 
sat at the desk in her chamber writing a let- 
ter. She pondered long, with knitted brows, 
then wrote carefully, in a crabbed hand, a 
few lines on a sheet, placed it in an envelope, 
directed and stamped and enclosed the mis- 
sive in a larger one, addressed to Eome. She 
inserted a slip of paper containing these 
words : 

“Dear Jane: 

Kindly post this letter at Rome without delay. 

C. H. 

She glided forth into the corridor unper- 
ceived and slipped the missive into the hotel 
post-box. Then she returned to her apart- 
ment and traced a purple line in the palm 
and on the inside of the thumb of her right 
hand with a German indelible pencil. 

‘‘People will be sorry for me if I have 
hurt my right hand,’’ she murmured, wrap- 
ping a muslin handkerchief around the wrist. 
After which she rubbed her face with toilette 
powder to a ghastly pallor. 

“That will do,” she added aloud. “Now 
for results.” 

The Lady from China was popular at the 
Hotel of the Pines. She had a dry humor 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


51 


and was conversant witli many tMngs. Her 
correspondence was large, and her supply of 
British periodicals varied. She discussed 
politics with the men, and attracted the 
women by her trinkets and gems. Indeed 
she seemed clothed in jewels, collars, neck- 
laces, girdles and clasps. The wife of the 
Eoman banker took down the address of her 
London jeweler. The court beauty admired 
her Brahman rosary of one hundred and 
eight beads, strung of precious stones and 
coral the size of pigeon’s eggs, or a phoenix 
ornament of gold and pearls, with wings 
hovering, and accepted an emblem of friend- 
ship, a rod, or sceptre, of ivory, with a lotus 
engraved on it. The President of the Tri- 
bunals pored over the shares quoted in her 
copy of the Mining World, She parried 
adroitly the frank curiosity of the Latin 
races, and remained unknown, inscrutable, a 
riddle to her fellows. 

She made a sensation when she appeared 
on the terrace in soft draperies emblematical 
of the seasons, with the underlying tones of 
yellow and the delicate green of spring 
merging through violet and rose to the deep 
red of autumn. At times she had her tresses 
pinned up with bodkins, and decked with 


52 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


flowers made of silk. She habitually wore a 
narrow boa of nearly priceless sable of Man- 
churia, noted with respectful admiration by 
the feminine eye. 

At ten o^clock that night Evelyn Kemp 
moved about noiselessly in the shrouded 
chamber of Harold Benham, a gracious pres- 
ence of peaceful guardianship, the very 
touch of her hand on the pillow soothing. 

‘‘Sleep,’’ she whispered, softly, satisfied 
with her work. 

“Ah, to sleep and forget all,” he re- 
sponded, as she placed a tiny tabloid between 
his lips. 

A little white figure, with blonde curls 
falling over the shoulders, sat up in bed in 
the adjoining room. 

‘ ‘ Oh, I see you ! ’ ’ cried May. ‘ ‘ Go away ! ’ ’ 

“Hush, darling! Your papa wishes to be 
very quiet,” said Evelyn Kemp with a new 
ring of authority in her voice. 

The nurse was hastily summoned away by 
a servant, to a pale woman extended on a 
sofa, with closed eyes, who clutched her 
sleeve with a left hand, the other member 
being disabled and wrapped in a handker- 
chief. 

“I fear one of my attacks of the nerves,” 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


53 


she said faintly. leave me for a mo- 

ment. I am here all alone.’’ 

The features of the nnrse hardened. 

‘‘You should not travel without a maid,” 
she said, sharply. 

The Lady from China, prone and helpless, 
elevated her eyebrows slightly and regarded 
Evelyn Kemp steadfastly through half- 
closed lids. 

“Perhaps you are right,” she assented, 
mildly. “I must really engage you to take 
care of me. Now make all preparations for 
one of my wakeful nights.” 

“You have hurt your hand?” questioned 
the nurse. 

“A mere bruise, I fancy. My own clumsi- 
ness with a bronze vase, and I must not use 
my fingers to hold anything.” 

“The wrist must be dressed and bound 
up,” said the nurse. 

‘ ‘ Stuff ! I will bathe it in cold water, ’ ’ re- 
torted the palient. 

Evelyn Kemp sullenly withdrew to make 
preparations for an enforced vigil. Left 
alone, the pallid invalid rose swiftly and 
swept her ornaments into a brass-hound 
leather trunk and thrust her keys under the 
pillow. 


54 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


have promised to take care of Mr. Ben- 
ham, and relieve his wife of all care,’’ said 
the nurse, resentfully. 

^‘Yes; after I have done with you. Bead 
aloud to me from that hook on the table,” 
was the calm rejoinder. 

Evelyn Kemp kept watch all night. Sleep 
had deserted these precincts, at least. She 
read aloud monotonously, and was bidden to 
continue, inexorably, if she paused. She 
prepared a sleeping potion in a wine glass, 
which was utterly without effect, since her 
charge poured it into a convenient flower 
pot unperceived. Hours passed and Evelyn 
Kemp sat gazing into the shadows with 
angry eyes, as this human octopus stretched 
forth one tenacious tentacle of selfish exac- 
tion after another, and wound them about 
her, binding her will, even, captive. Be- 
sides, it was tiresome serving the needs of a 
woman of uncertain age, faded, irritable and 
sharp-witted, and quite different from min- 
istering to a handsome man with all the tact 
of an angel of mercy. 

^‘Just my luck!” thought the pupil of the 
hospital. ‘^She will never let me off if she 
fancies herself ill, and I must earn some 
money if I have the chance.” 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


55 


When Lenora Benham took her place to 
sing at the evening concert of the maestro, 
a letter was given to her. The postmark 
was Rome, and the handwriting unfamiliar. 
She slipped the envelope into her bag un- 
opened. Later she read the missive in her 
own room, flushed and excited after the 
ordeal of singing. 

“A woman seeks to supplant you with your husband. 
Do you tamely submit to such usurpation? Your compan- 
ions flatter you too much. You have not even a fine voice. 

A True Friend.” 

Lenora Benham laughed and then she 
sobbed, putting her hand to her throat. 

VI. WHO IS THE woman! 

The arrow of spite or malice shot by the 
anonymous letter did not affect Lenora in 
the least, as a high-spirited woman. She 
assured herself of the fact at the outset. 
Her first sentiment was one of relief that she 
was the recipient. Had her husband been 
the target, instead, so many annoying hints 
and innuendoes might have reached the mark 
about her! As the favorite pupil of the 
maestro, she was the object of much atten- 
tion and praise. If she was destined for the 
theatre she should become accustomed to 


56 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


every phase of public homage. Harold 
might be disturbed, even rendered a trifle 
jealous, by the pressing attentions of the 
Prince, which the latter did not seek to con- 
ceal in his zeal for her musical progress. 
Doubtless feminine envy of the precedence 
given to her in the summer society had dic- 
tated the note. She was glad, relieved that 
the shot was launched at her rather than 
Harold. She could conceal the barbed shaft 
beneath her corselet, and keep her own coun- 
sel. She was striving to win a goal, and 
temporize with the elements of success. 
Perhaps an enemy might assert that she led 
the Prince on. She was incapable of jeal- 
ousy of her husband. Poor Harold, invalid- 
ed, was not even in the running ! 

Lenora Benham did not sleep that night. 
She was a prey to manifold doubts and cares. 
Her spirit was flagging from sheer physical 
weariness. The bubble of vanity, tinted with 
rainbow colors, collapsed in a sudden revul- 
sion of feeling. Her surroundings were re- 
pugnant, even distasteful, to her. She would 
like to flee away and escape from all. 

The poison of the anonymous letter 
coursed through her veins in a feverish pul- 
sation. Her voice? What was amiss with 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


57 


her voice I Was this enemy aware that her 
throat got tired at times? She was acutely 
aware that Harold did not place undue faith 
in her choice of a public career. 

‘‘You can only try/’ he said. “If you do 
not succeed, we will return to our little 
suburban cottage and strive to live within 
our income.” 

Ah, the genius of a family is seldom be- 
lieved in by the domestic circle until stamped 
with success by the outside world! Lenora 
recalled, with bitterness, the commendation 
of the husband of the woman who wrote a 
book destined to become a keynote of the 
nineteenth century, translated into m^ny 
languages, and the admonition that she 
would be fortunate if the price of the work 
might be a new silk gown. If Harold only 
realized all! 

The winged arrow rankled deepest in the 
mention of her voice. Had not the organ 
scope, volume, great purity of tone? 

She sank into uneasy dreams towards 
morning, and was aroused by these words in 
her ear: Who is the woman? The puzzling 
inquiry recurred to her mind with odd per- 
sistency. She had reason to fear the influ- 
ence of another woman with her husband? 


58 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


Absurd ! Who could this rival be She had 
no idea. Her curiosity became slowly awak- 
ened. 

The eventful day, the festival of St. Law- 
rence, so long to be remembered by all the 
mountainside, dawned sultry and languid 
with August heat. The prince had arranged 
an excursion to a distant height in honor of 
the maestro on this festa of San Lorenzo, 
whose name he bore. The maestro^ Lorenzo, 
was a ponderous person with a dyed mous- 
tache, a bald forehead and a visage of stern 
gravity. He was accompanied by a stout 
wife and a bevy of daughters, while fashion- 
able ladies who had been his pupils zealously 
upheld his claims of rare proficiency to all 
newcomers, especially foreigners. Eival 
professors and their partisans scoffed at 
the worthy man and accredited him with 
having ruined more voices by an over-pres- 
sure of cultivation than any teacher of his 
day. 

Mrs. Benham had demurred when urged 
to join the gay company, but had been over- 
ruled, caressed and coaxed to yield. Was 
she not the favorite pupil of the maestro, 
Lorenzo ? A basket of fruit and fiowers 
from the villa of the Prince near by, similar 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


59 


to one presented to the Professor, was 
brought to her door at an early hour. 

^‘Very kind,’’ murmured the recipient. 
^‘Harold, do taste these apricots and 
peaches. ’ ’ 

“No,” said Harold Benham. 

“I must go to the picnic, I suppose,” said 
Lenora, gathering a spangled white veil over 
her hat and seeking her gloves. “The 
Marchesa insists on my riding a donkey be- 
side her. They would all be offended, and I 
must not offend these people too much.” 

“Go, by all means,” said her husband, 
averting his glance from her. 

“It will soon be over,” she continued. 

“Next week we can go down and find quiet 
quarters in an apartment or villa.” 

He laughed. 

“Why not put me in some home for incur- 
ables and be free I” 

“Harold! And May?” 

“Oh, May can seek an orphan asylum.” 

The little girl was hovering over the bas- 
ket of fruit. 

“No, no!” she protested, taking the mat- 
ter jestingly, since her father laughed. “I 
will stay with my own dear papa. ’ ’ 

The gay party of cavaliers and ladies 


60 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


started on the pilgrimage at an early honr, 
with gnides, donkeys and a sledge drawn by 
oxen and fitted with a gigantic basket, con- 
taining chairs, for the maestro, 

Lenora was silent and perturbed as the 
cavalcade of pleasure-seekers climbed a 
slope. A refrain rang in her brain above 
the laughter and song of her companions: 
Who is the woman? At the bend of the path 
her donkey halted and she gazed down into 
the gulf of green which separated her from 
her husband. A panic of dread and alarm 
seized her. Why? She never knew. The 
superstitious made a sign of the cross when 
she spoke of the hour, afterwards. She 
slipped from the saddle to her feet and dis- 
appeared down the path. 

must return to the hotel,’’ she ex- 
plained to the boy. 

The Lady from China entertained visitors 
in her rooms with fine tea and sweetmeats. 
Harold Benham and May were guests of 
honor, the former extended in a chaise- 
longue near a window, and the latter fiitting 
about to touch curious objects, trinkets of 
jade, and transparent horn, and a ball of 
carved ivory, followed by the pug in affable 
mood. The hostess kept her right hand in 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


61 


a silk scarf as a sling. May sought the god 
of riches, seated on a bag of rice. 

‘‘It must he about here somewhere,’’ said 
the hostess, carelessly. “Never mind.” 

She gave the child Ron-8 a, the idol of the 
Yellow Eiver, with a broad, flat, red face, 
goggle eyes, a marine shell on the head and 
a sword in the hand. Then she burned some 
powdered sandalwood on a bornze dish. 

Evelyn Kemp served the tea. 

Lenora Benham entered and seated herself 
beside her husband quietly. She was pale 
and had her hair meekly smoothed back 
from her brow. She held a small book of 
autographs. In response to surprise at her 
return she explained that her head ached 
and she would like a cup of tea. She scruti- 
nized the company with keen interest. Har- 
old was talking earnestly with Evelyn Kemp, 
as she bent over him to proffer buttered 
toast. 

“Why did you come back?” he demanded, 
abruptly and suspiciously. 

Lenora made no response. She beheld in 
every woman present the hidden foe of the 
anonymous letter. Stay ! Was her own 
rival of the number as well? All women 


62 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


were gentle and good to her crippled hus- 
band, of course. 

^^We shall soon he leaving,’’ she said. 
wish everyone to kindly write in my book.” 

The Lady from China stiffened, and ex- 
plained that she had hurt her hand, then 
passed the pen to the banker’s wife. As she 
did so, she turned with a startled expression, 
listened, and exclaimed : ‘ ‘ Fire ! ’ ’ 

Confusion ensued. The hostess flung open 
the door and caught a porter by the arm as 
he hurried along the corridor. 

Quick! Carry the gentleman out of 
doors. You shall be well paid!” she cried. 

She turned to her guests. ‘‘Fly for your 
lives! The house is burning,” she added. 

Already flames crackled in the woodwork, 
and a volume of dense smoke enveloped the 
interior or poured forth from every case- 
ment. Cries, exclamations of dismay and 
commands given by those in authority re- 
sounded on all sides. People hurried from 
the adjacent groves and terraces to rescue 
children indoors or save their wardrobe and 
luggage. All the mountain world realized 
that an unprecedented calamity had occurred 
on the festa of San Lorenzo. A building had 
caught fire in full daylight, and the sur- 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


63 


rounding belt of woods was threatened. 
Water supply to extinguish a conflagration 
there was none. If the twigs, bushes and 
trees caught from flying sparks and embers 
the woods would be destroyed. Every vil- 
lage and hamlet poured forth men and boys 
in response to the tocsin of alarm, and hast- 
ened to the rescue. Old women fell on their 
knees and prayed before wayside shrines 
that a calamity dreaded all their lives might 
be averted. Distant towns of the valleys re- 
sponded to the danger signal of the kindling 
beacon on the height. 

Harold Benham was safely transported to 
the terrace with his wife and child. The pug 
barked sharply at the group. 

‘‘Where is sheT^ said Harold, noticing 
first the absence of the mistress. 

The Lady from China was missing. She 
had turned back in the corridors and made 
her way through the stifling smoke to her 
apartment. Hall and stairway cut otf, she 
appeared at the window and calmly gave 
orders to Evelyn Kemp below. She climbed 
on the ledge and parapet, gained a ladder, 
and descended into the garden. 

“All will be lost!’’ she sighed. 


64 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘^Bnt you have found your bag/’ said 
Evelyn Kemp. 

‘‘Yes/’ was the triumphant retort. “I 
have found my fetish. ’ ’ 

She carried on her arm the yellow hag, 
wrought with the Imperial black dragon, 
scorched and soiled, with the sachet of rice 
and the god of riches safely ensconced in the 
depths. The nurse further noticed in assist- 
ing her the gleam of jewels around her 
throat and neck and arms. Possibly she 
habitually wore these ornaments concealed 
beneath her robe. 

A pall of smoke hung for hours over the 
cliff, the obscurity peopled by flying forms, 
amidst a babel of voices, as furniture and 
luggage were carried forth by a throng of 
menials. 

Lenora Benham, hurrying to claim her 
property, met the Prince. He took her hand. 

“Accept my protection,” he said, with all 
the manner of a grand seigneur, “My auto- 
mobile waits yonder to take your family to 
my villa.” 

“I can accept — nothing,” replied Lenora, 
withdrawing her hand. 

He bowed and smiled. Lenora was almost 
plain. How readily the soft contours of 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


65 


beauty are marred by emotion ! He sneered 
as be turned away. There are hosts of 
pretty women in the world. Lenora sought 
the sheltered corner of the terrace where her 
husband and child waited. She flung her 
arms around his neck and cried : 

^‘Oh, Harold, can you ever forgive me! I 
might have been far away from you on the 
mountain excursion if I had not turned 
back. ’ ^ 

He embraced her in silence. Little May 
clung to them. 

The Benhams departed from the spot 
without a glance behind. 

Fire, swift and furious in its course, con- 
sumed the house to the core, leaving a black- 
ened shell on the hillside. Fire, in forked 
tongues, leaped forth seeking fresh prey, 
and gained the woods, licking about the res- 
inous trunks of stately trees, scorching with 
a fierce intensity dry and dust-laden shrub- 
bery and catching high branches. Night 
came on, shadowy darkness illuminated for 
leagues by the dull red glow of a vast con- 
flagration. Moments of suspense in deadly 
peril of a fresh outburst lengthened to hours 
as the advance of the foe was steadily con- 
tested by every man with axe, hook and poles 


66 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


to beat down flaming foliage and hew apart 
burning masses, or trample on igniting vines 
and grass. 

When the fire was spent a crowd lingered, 
sifting the ashes for lost treasures, bewail- 
ing the disappearance of valuable papers, 
carried in portmanteau, clothing, laces and 
jewelry. Humanity was stripped of the garb 
of courtesy and revealed in all the naked- 
ness of greedy precedence to claim objects, 
while suspecting a neighbor. 

Two women journeyed to England, one 
haughtily domineering, yet intimate in the 
discussion of recent events, the other sub- 
missive and discreet as an attendant. Ar- 
rived in London, the former paid scrupu- 
lously the wages due, and bestowed a ring of 
enamel, with a maxim of Confucius engraved 
on it. 

^ ^ Go back to the hospital, my girl, and seek 
to interest some medical student,’^ she said. 

‘ A'^ou are not adapted to the theatre.^’ 

should like the excitement and move- 
ment of the theatre, ’ ’ retorted Evelyn Kemp. 
‘H need a patron.^’ 

Lenora Benham watched over her husband 
in the Engadine during the winter, leaving 
her child in a school at Vevey. She was 


THE LADY FEOM CHINA 


67 


cheerful, patient and vigilant at her post. 
Harold Benham breathed the elixir of new 
life in the upper atmosphere. With renewed 
animation approaching health, he was skep- 
tical and suspicious of the change in his wife. 
She intended abandoning her choice of a pro- 
fessional career for the present, she ex- 
plained. Why? She feared her voice was 
overstrained and needed rest. In the spring 
they would return home to their cottage, 
where she might strive to gather a circle 
around her and teach vocalization. Hence- 
forth she should try the mi-voix method. 
He was unconvinced, and listened coldly to 
the old melody of the Suwanee Eiver sung in 
his ear. 

‘‘Perhaps the sacrifice is too great,’’ he 
demurred. “As for me. Miss Kemp had all 
sorts of plans for my improvement of health. 
A clever girl, and amusing, too ! ’ ’ 

Lenora regarded him with slowly dilating 
eyes. 

“Miss Kemp?” she repeated. “You 
mean the nurse ? ’ ’ 

“A lady nurse,” corrected Harold, testily. 
“If you wish to pursue your studies, she is 
willing to take charge of me.” 


68 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘‘I will care for you myself/^ replied the 
wife. “We cannot afford a nurse.” 

“Oh, as to that, we might benefit her in 
America, some time,” he said. 

“Harold! Do you wish it?” 

There was a moment of silence. A slow 
wave of color swept over the face of the 
crippled man. 

“No,” he rejoined. 

Lenora understood. Evelyn Kemp, fair 
and pleasing, was the woman! Thus she’ 
drank the cup of failure and humiliation to 
the bitter dregs. 

The Lady from China turned her face 
eastward, accompanied by her pug dog. 
When Aden came in view, she mused: 

“I have saved two people, but they will 
never know. ’ ’ 


A LOST TREASURE: THE SERVANT 
PROBLEM 

Caelotta stood on the threshold of the 
kitchen, smiling, and said she would do all 
in her power to content the ladies. 

‘‘Tell her the ladies are easily contented,’’ 
said Miss Hart in English. 

“Yes ! A gypsy kettle over a wood fire on 
the hillside would do, ’ ’ added Molly, blithely. 

“Or just a picnic lunch in the open air,” 
said Mrs. Armstrong. 

Ada King shook her head. 

“One must eat to live,” she said with au- 
thority. “Let us try an Italian kitchen for 
once in our lives, at least. As I have stud- 
ied the language I will be the housekeeper in 
our summer experiment, if you like. We can 
balance accounts out here in the loggia every 
evening. ’ ’ 

“What fun!” chimed in Molly, with all the 
exuberance and inconsequence of her sixteen 
years. 

“Ada will soon set up housekeeping at 
Rome, as we are all aware,” Miss Hart 
hinted, archly. 


69 


70 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


Ada reddened and feigned not to under- 
stand the meaning of the wiry, elderly lady, 
who was tall, thin and sallow, with a ooiifure 
of grey hair much indebted to the hairdress- 
er's art of ‘transformations’’ after the 
nightcap stage of early hours. 

“You do study cookery hooks, even in the 
studio, dear,” said Mrs. Armstrong. “Is it 
for Edward’s sake?” 

“If you mean Edward Stanton, he has a 
very delicate digestion as well as a weak 
chest,” replied Ada, a trifle stiffly. 

Young Molly giggled, then hastily mur- 
mured : 

“It is so good of you to consider his diges- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“Italian cook books are perfectly fascinat- 
ing,” said Ada, laughing. “The words are 
so pretty and the terms harmonious. For 
example, if you are a housewife, consider 
making a sweet, a dolce, ‘a pudding-pie,’ as 
the children say, under the list of consola- 
tions of the stomach, all peaches, stoned, 
maccaroons and pounded almonds in a 
syrup. ’ ’ 

These four friends had chosen in the 
month of June a summer resort of the Appe- 
nines. The valley wound amidst the green 


A LOST TREASURE 


71 


slopes of enfolding hills, clothed with chest- 
nut trees and vineyards. A shallow little 
river sparkled and foamed over pebbles, 
spanned by ancient bridges here and there, 
and murmured of the mountain peaks far 
above where it was born, with warnings of 
winter storms as well. Hedges of box, 
lawns, parterres of flowers, clumps of hor- 
tensia, aromatic shrubbery and thickets of 
laurel bordered the village street. The spot 
has been praised by Queen Margherita, 
gliding through the country in her automo- 
bile, as one garden, with the air fragrant of 
jasmine, roses and vanilla-scented hay. Here 
the nightingale sings in full daylight of 
morning and afternoon hours, in July, the 
delicate, trilling notes of gushing melody 
like a canary, only terminating in the odd 
jug y jug, jug^^ of the poets. 

The party of Americans had arrived bag 
and baggage, with a little stir of excitement, 
and took possession of a modest apartment 
in an old stone house of cool aspect. The 
building climbed the hillside, as it were, the 
lower story, with the door of a stable on one 
side, flanking a garden patch above the high- 
way, the first floor approached by a flight of 
stone steps worthy of study by artist or 


72 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


etcher, and the upper quarter overlooking 
the country from many windows on one side 
and opening on a terrace, paved, on the 
other. This entrance-way formed a little 
plateau of grass, with a plane-tree in the 
middle, where the children gathered and the 
fowls strayed in search of such summer de- 
licacies as beetles and grasshoppers. Other 
houses bordered this open space. At an 
angle of wall on the hillside was the public 
fountain, an arched alcove of masonry, 
draped with vines and ferns, and a cypress 
tree growing above. All drank at this cool 
spring, the spout of iron tube brimming over 
into a basin of moss-stained stone in shape 
like a carved sarcophagus. Women brought 
copper vessels, the serchio, to fill for their 
households. The peddler and passing way- 
farer paused to quatf a refreshing draught. 
The contadine, carrying bundles of grass, 
sheaves of grain or wine barrels, halted at 
the fountain. The dusty laborers mending 
the roads, cast down pickaxe, shovels and 
tattered hats on the grass to hold their brown 
hands and heated faces under the pure rill. 
This country is blessed with abundant 
sources of rock springs, in parched and arid 


A LOST TEEASUEE 


73 


Italy, the waters that fail not, for a grateful 
population. 

The upper floor of the old house was the 
apartment rented for the summer months by 
the four American friends. The interior 
had spacious chambers, with muslin curtains 
at the windows, plain, old-fashioned furni- 
ture,' and floors of red brick tiles, indebted 
to oil and sawdust for a polish. A wide hall, 
with sofas and tables, made a comfortable 
living room during the hot hours of noon. 
The suite of rooms terminated in a loggia, 
or open porch, at one extremity, the arches 
draped with the swaying tendrils of vines, 
and the parapet adorned with pots of 
geranium, asters and marigolds. The kitchen 
was at the other end of the building. It was 
a bare room, with whitewashed walls, a brick 
hearth of primitive form, furnished with 
kettles, pots, copper stew-pans and a tin 
oven, a grated window and a green door giv- 
ing egress on the paved terrace. A conven- 
ient margin of ledge outside the portal 
served for depositing a basket, a tray of 
tomatoes, or the brown, leathery, edible fun- 
gus to dry in the sun, and to spread freshly 
ironed linen. 

Eminently characteristic was this green 


74 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


door of the Italian kitchen on the hillside! 
Here came the monk in sandals and brown 
robe, and the nnns, wearing wide straw hats, 
to beg the dole of charity on Saturday. Pic- 
turesque mendicants, bearded like hermits, 
a bag on the shoulder and staff in hand, lin- 
gered on the threshold. Even a shaggy bear 
and a dismal monkey reached the spot, on 
occasion, with a tattered crew, to the sound 
of a tambourine. More welcome guests were 
the postman, clad in linen, with his satchel 
strapped over his arm; a grimy myrmidon 
with a load of charcoal; the baker ^s boy, who 
alighted from his bicycle below and brought 
a basket of long loaves of bread to distribute 
to the neighborhood; the peasant with milk 
and fresh butter from a distant farm. Slen- 
der girls from the heights of adjacent peaks 
paid flying visits, with wild strawberries and 
raspberries to sell. Sunburned old wives, 
with yellow handkerchiefs knotted over their 
heads, did traffic with mushrooms, fowls and 
eggs. The fruit vender appeared with green 
pears or peaches and an attendant boy car- 
rying a pair of brass scales. 

Carlotta was here installed, with wages of 
twenty francs a month, and three francs for 
her wine. She was a pretty girl, with a dark. 


A LOST TEEASURE 


75 


oval face, bright eyes, dazzling white teeth 
and lustrous hair, deftly arranged according 
to the latest fashion. She was obliging and 
willing to do all the hard work of floor clean- 
ing, scrubbing and polishing without aid. 
She served the table at meals in a neat, white 
apron with a bib, devoid of suspicion of re- 
cent proximity to the kitchen fire. In addi- 
tion, she was a born genius in her own line. 
Her gifts had been ripened by the advan- 
tages of education. Given a sauce-pan and 
a bed of coals, anywhere on the terrestrial 
globe, Carlotta would have cooked well. 

Her father came from the Romagna to 
work on a branch railway and had settled 
here with a numerous family. An old Count- 
ess interested herself in the training of Car- 
lotta to be a good servant. Sagacity mingled 
with benevolence in the choice of a career. 
The girl was not only taught to cook, but 
versed in all the skillful delicacies of the 
craft of flavoring, mingling ingredients and 
making appetizing dishes out of trifles, a bit 
of tough meat, or chicken, or fish, minced 
and pounded with dainty manipulation into 
patties or rissolles; the most tempting va- 
riety of treatment of eggs; the most capti- 


76 


A LIFT ON THE ROAD 


vating store of recipes of dessert in pastry, 
creams and chocolate puddings. 

Altogether the old Countess wisely gave 
the poor maiden a dowry in such instruction 
which was of inestimable value for life, in- 
stead of tuition in embroidery and fine 
needlework. Indeed a husband would be 
more readily secured by these acquirements 
than any other, with an ultimate investment 
of placing out at service by a worthy mate. 
In Italy the man whose wife is a cook may 
safely anticipate the enjoyment of lounging 
on the street, with his hands in his pockets. 
Carlotta verified the adage that dear to the 
artist is his art. She spared no pains to ex- 
cel, and actually enjoyed making the most 
of a dish in accordance with thrifty economy 
of fuel and materials. Under her ministra- 
t ration soup had all the excellent qualities 
of the Tuscan minesira, whether served 
clear, with vermicelli, white of egg, grated 
cheese, tiny halls of dumplings, or thickened 
to a puree of beans, barley or potato, eaten 
with toasted bread cut in dice. Salads under 
her nimble fingers varied from the fresh 
summer lettuce, endive, sorrel, radicchio, a 
suspicion of the biting horseradish, shalot 
and nasturtium to a mayonnaise of the most 


A LOST TEEASUEE 


77 


complicated construction. Beef, of an in- 
ferior quality, became under her magic spell 
a tender portion, braised in milk for hours 
and served covered with a rich, brown gravy, 
to be severed with a spoon. Maize was con- 
verted by her into polenta, in three-cornered 
morsels, garnishing the plate of meat; little 
cakes, crisped and brown, the gnocchi, and 
timballe the size of a cup, baked to a dry, 
crumby envelope, with a lid on the top, and 
filled with a white cream of chicken, or veal, 
maccaroni and rice, and the fine grain semol- 
lina assumed every phase of excellence for 
the hunger of humanity in her kingdom, the 
kitchen with a green door. Vegetables were 
seasoned to perfection. The worthy potato 
had no secret of savory value that she could 
not reveal, nor the excellent tomato, used to 
flavor soups and gravy, strained in a thick 
sauce to consume with eggs, fish and meats, 
dressed raw in slices for a salad, with oil 
and vinegar, or baked in halves, breaded, 
and filled with pounded meat, herbs or an- 
chovy. Her unfailing allies in supply were 
large beans, boiled, and the faithful zucchi, 
a member of the squash and pumpkin family, 
cut in delicate slices, stewed, or fried, 
mashed, and cooked whole in a sauce. The 


78 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


art of frying was her triumph. She was not 
merely an adept with oil, by inheritance, but 
soared into the most airy and light efforts 
of skill with hatter, eggs and butter. 

‘^She will do nicely,’’ said Ada, after tast- 
ing a first portion of tagliatelli, the pasta 
made in the house, cut very fine and served 
in a gravy with fowls ’ livers. 

The ladies speedily adapted themselves to 
a routine of summer hours, charmed with 
the novelty of their experiment and disposed 
to compare their lot with the usual crowded 
resorts of seaside and mountain. Miss 
Hart’s diary recorded rules of living: A de- 
lightful breakfast at half-past seven was 
spread on a table in the loggia, consisting of 
coffee and hot milk for Ada and Molly; tea 
with a boiled egg and a slice of toast for Miss 
Hart and a cup of cocoa for Mrs. Armstrong. 
At this meal the feminine household could 
enjoy the Italian ease of a peignoir and 
dressing sack. 

Lunch was ready at twelve; tea was par- 
taken of at four o’clock in the loggia, and 
dinner was served at seven. Molly arranged 
a nosegay for the middle of the table. A 
small carafe of the red wine of the country 
was used sparingly and a large one of the 


A LOST TEEASUEE 


79 


pure and deliciously cool water of the ad- 
jacent spring. Fruit was tempting if not 
very abundant. Large black figs were placed 
on a vine leaf in a glass dish; apricots, plums 
and small fruits, raspberries, or mountain 
strawberries, plentifully sprinkled with 
sugar, and a spoonful of wine added, if de- 
sired. Carlotta fetched a store of small 
pears with the Parmesan cheese. 

'^We Italians say that bread, cheese and 
pears make a meal for a gentleman,’’ she 
explained. Formaggio, pane, e pere, pasto 
di cavaliere. 

The days did not lack variety. Many ex- 
cursions were undertaken in the mountains 
of the vicinity to picturesque hamlets, 
churches and mediaeval castles. Molly, as 
the pupil of an art school in America, made 
pilgrimages mounted on a sober grey don- 
key to sketch ancient gateways of towns and 
fragments of architecture. Ada King, a 
clever artist of reputation, speedily filled her 
portfolio with studies of charming children 
and wrinkled old women, with bold effects 
of light and color on the clusters of purple 
grapes under the pergola or the poppies 
flecking a patch of golden grain. 

Mrs. Armstrong worked on rich embroid- 


80 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


ery for altars in the loggia. She repeated 
the lines : 

“A pleasant land of drowsy heat it was, 

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eyes, 
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 

Forever flushing round a summer sky.” 

never knew what it was to he thor- 
oughly lazy before/^ affirmed Miss Hart, 
who had nerves and was traveling for health. 

She decided to write a new hook of travels, 
all the impressions of a voluminous corre- 
spondence gathered around the table of 
afternoon tea. What title should 'she choose 
for the volume? Pannetone that I have 
eaten? The places where I have eaten pan- 
netone, toasted, buttered and spread with 
apricot jam, cakes of different Italian towns 
furnishing the theme, with incidental refer- 
ence to surroundings. 

Carlotta reigned in the kitchen with the 
green door. In the course of the season she 
lured the household into preserving, and the 
whole premises were redolent of hot sugar 
and fruit. 

^‘You know that the Herman ladies in the 
Apennines always make syrups of the berries 
to take home to Florence and Eome,’’ said 


A LOST TEEASURE 


81 


Ada King, with a newly awakened house- 
wifely zeal. 

Carlotta converted the mountain raspberry 
into a rich jam, put up in earthen jars and 
the top covered with thick paper steeped in 
spirit to prevent mould in cellars. She pre- 
pared small green figs, flavored with ginger, 
in a transparent conserve rivaling oriental 
sweetmeats. The quince yielded her a jelly 
resembling in delicacy of flavor the guava of 
the West Indies. She made of the juice of 
the pomegranate the marinato, a liquor kept 
by the addition of a little alcohol. 

“How clever you are, Carlotta,’’ ex- 
claimed Molly. 

“Ah, signorina!” said Carlotta, “every 
tower rings its own bell!” Ogui campanile 
suona le sue campane. 

Then she brushed the tresses of Molly and 
arranged them skillfully in an elaborate 
coiffure. She had been a lady’s maid before 
the ambition of a cook was awakened in her 
breast. 

She had her whims and surprises. Friday 
was always maigre, according to her stand- 
ard, whether the ladies were Catholic or 
Protestant. Let us repent of our sins in as 
tasty a manner as possible, was the lenient 


82 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


creed of this handmaiden. Lunch began with 
a cheese souffle, very hot and light. Next 
came scrambled eggs, heaped in a pyramid 
and garnished with triangular slices of 
toasted bread spread with anchovy reduced 
to a paste. Codfish followed in the form of 
polpetti, a nearly white cream for consist- 
ency, yet retaining the fully salt flavor and 
fried in halls. Easpherries and Gruyere 
cheese completed the meal. 

Dinner furnished a soup of peas in a puree, 
with morsels of chopped tongue in it. Fish 
of the river were delicately browned and gar- 
nished with lemon and sprigs of parsley. A 
dish of braised fowl, with fine pasta, and a 
salad followed. The dessert was composed 
of stewed plums in a fruit syrup and thin 
almond cakes. Apricots and figs succeeded 
the dolce. 

One day Carlotta brought a large dish of 
curry to the table with much pride. This 
consisted of portions of veal simmered in the 
smooth yet fiery yellow sauce, and rice, dry 
and light, piled on another plate. She was 
puzzled to find that Americans are not in- 
variably fond of this dish of British predi- 
lection. 

At other times she charmed her employers 


A LOST TEEASUEE 


83 


by holding aloof from the village market- 
place as much as possible, and concocting 
pick-up dishes with ingenuity and skill. Fish 
of the river, boiled, was converted into a 
mayonnaise, with eggs, sliced beets and let- 
tuce. Patties, croquettes and rissolles, filled 
with minced meat or fowl — a sort of glorified 
fritter in a batter, served with tomato sauce 
— replaced more substantial viands. 

^^She is a perfect treasure!’’ exclaimed 
Mrs. Armstrong, after partaking of an alp of 
whipped cream on a foundation of grated 
chestnuts, accompanied by little, crisp horns, 
the cialdone, made by Carlotta. 

‘‘I will take her to Eome, and attach her 
to all of us,” boasted Ada King. ‘^She can 
be held by kindness, of course. Yes, I might 
give her more wages, but she must not be 
spoiled.” 

^‘Are you sure of her?” demurred Miss 
Hart. ^‘The Italian Marchesa on the train 
from Perugia said that soon there will be no 
more young women for service left in Italy. 
All emigrate and marry.” 

Ada King smiled. 

^‘I hope to be able to manage this one. 
Edward must see her. ’ ’ 

^^Oh!” said Miss Hart. 


84 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘‘Certainly she is a perfect treasure/^ 
echoed the friends. 

As for Carlotta, what was her actual opin- 
ion of the strangers she served? Who knows? 
The previous winter she had been taken to 
Malta by an English military family and had 
joyfully returned home to Italy in March, 
her health sadly shaken by the uses of a coal 
fire. She had lived with a Eussian lady, who 
wished her to drink tea instead of wine ; an 
incredible expedient. She was quiet, and not 
coquettish. She snubbed all swains who lin- 
gered, about as she tripped to the fountain 
for water of an evening, when the stars shone 
above and the fireflies twinkled amidst the 
fragrant darkness of the shrubbery. She was 
very devout. She went to mass at five o ’clock 
and paused to pray at favorite roadside 
shrines before going to market in the village, 
whither she returned with her purchases tied 
up in the usual gingham handkerchief. 

Edward Stanton came for a week in Au- 
gust, lodged at an old albergo on the street 
below, and sketched in the hills. He was a 
slight and pale young man, with a sympa- 
thetic smile and much dry humor. He was 
popular with womenkind of all classes, and 
made the acquaintance of pretty Carlotta 


A LOST TREASUEE 


85 


with the flattering affability of the Roman 
artist. During this visit the perfect treasure 
of a cook excelled in her calling. Zeal for 
masculine approval, or interest in the ro- 
mance of the situation, led to serving a fritto 
of surpassing excellence, composed of arti- 
chokes, zucchini, calf’s liver and brains; or 
an exquisite trifle of sweetbread dressed with 
peas ; a platter of tongue stewed in gravy ; a 
beefsteak with summer cabbage, by no means 
coarse fare in her hands. For the suitor 
Carlotta lent additional flavor to the egg- 
plant, boiled, cut in thick slices and browned 
with tomatoes, the whole celery cooked with 
bacon, spinach mixed with fowls’ livers and 
flanked by a bed of rice; the whole pods of 
beans, sprinkled with cheese, the Mangia- 
tuUL 

For lovers this amiable handmaiden pro- 
vided a dessert of Italy praised by the late 
Prince Napoleon, small cups filled with the 
famous zabbaione, a frothing delicacy of egg 
and Marsala wine. Sponge cakes were eaten 
with the zabbaione. She further devised a 
galette, filled with jam, with a pensive 
thoughtfulness of demeanor; a merangue 
filled with chocolate custard, and even a tapi- 


86 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


oca pudding of most miraculous lightness, in 
sauce. 

When Ada King permitted Edward Stan- 
ton to put a diamond engagement ring on her 
finger, and received the congratulations of 
her friends, Carlotta may be said to have 
soared to the climax of her culinary achieve- 
ments, inspired to enthusiasm of sympathy 
in a betrothal. She spread a feast of tempt- 
ing variety and made a dolce, a wondrous 
structure of a sort of gigantic cake, severed 
in layers for spreading with a cream, as rich 
as butter, and of different colors — ^pink, yel- 
low, green — the whole surmounted by a roof 
of spun sugar and chocolate. 

‘‘She will do,^’ said Edward Stanton. 

Ada King beamed a triumphant response : 
“Not a word more just now. I will question 
her discreetly.’^ 

But man proposes. Two formidable 
shapes already loomed near. One, familiar 
to all lands, is known as: 

The servant problem. 

The other is : 

Emigration, 

One day a brown and stalwart youth ap- 
proached the kitchen door. Carlotta wel- 
comed him with tears and laughter. He was 


A LOST TEEASURE 


87 


her lover, returned at the expiration of his 
military service in Sicily to marry her. In- 
terest in the daily round of the postman and 
discretion of conduct abroad were explained. 
The suitor was a shoemaker, and intended 
to resume his calling. 

Marry a cobbler exclaimed Ada King. 
‘^What a pity for a girl like that to just sink 
to a common drudge ! ’ ’ 

thought you were an advocate of mat- 
rimony,^’ said Miss Hart. 

^‘A singer, a physician or a scientist 
should devote themselves wholly to their 
calling,” affirmed Ada. 

‘‘And a cook,” added Mrs. Armstrong, 
slyly. 

“We might give Carlotta a white dress 
for a wedding present,” mused young Molly. 

Further interrogated, the returned soldier 
announced his intention of emigrating to the 
United States of North America with his 
wife. Ada suggested, with sarcastic empha- 
sis, that there are plenty of cobblers in the 
locality chosen. The young man shrugged 
his shoulders slightly. Oh, they should find 
friends! Carlotta could go out to work, if 
necessary, Ada hinted. Carlotta smiled and 


88 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


looked at her chosen lord. No! She need 
not serve any more, he declared. 

have it!’^ exclaimed Miss Hart with 
prophetic wisdom. “That man will keep a 
restaurant, or open a hotel in a town of 
America. I can see it in his eye. ’ ’ 

“The wretch!^’ sighed Ada, as her air- 
castle faded away. 

“Carlotta, as mistress of the sauce-pans, 
can make of her husband a scullion to assist 
her in a linen cap and apron,” supplemented 
Mrs. Armstrong. “They will make a for- 
tune. ’ ’ 

“I fear that girl has no heart!” said Ada. 
“Already she scorches the omelette.” 

* ^ She has too much heart where the cobbler 
is concerned, I should say,” the elder rea- 
soned. 

The kitchen with the green door is closed 
and the apartment empty. The birds of a 
summer have flown away, Ada King and 
Molly returning to resume their art studies 
at Eome, Miss Hart to winter at Taormina, 
and Mrs. Armstrong to seek the Mont Pelerin 
above Geneva. 

Carlotta, the treasure, is forever lost to 
the modest sphere of domestic service. 

That year the tide of emigration swept 


A LOST TEEASUKE 


89 


Italy in a mighty wave of humanity. Tus- 
cany yielded her youth. The trains were 
crowded, and the young men sang quaint 
canticles in farewell to the hills and vine- 
yards and ancient towns crowned by a cam- 
panile as they passed. 

Among the number went Carlotta and her 
mate, brave, smiling, and confident of the 
future. 







TYING A KNOT: A SEA ROMANCE 

The Ocean Wave waited in the port of Genoa 
for her human freight and merchandise on 
a day of August. Latest triumph of modem 
construction, the steamer was prepared to 
challenge all rivalry in perfected mechanism, 
precision of discipline, and speed. Already 
feminine caprice asserted: ‘T will sail on 
no other vessel than the Ocean Wave.^^ 
Feminine caprice in such matters, as 
everybody knows, rules the world. 

The old sailor, peering over the bulwarks 
at the crowd of American travelers, might 
have affirmed, according to his creed, that 
there is no new way of tying a knot. The 
crews of the Italian craft at anchor near the 
Ocean Wave^ and even the porters loitering 
about the quays, would have assented to the 
adage: Nulla di nuovo nei nodi/^ (There 
is nothing new to learn about making knots.) 

Possibly this ancient mariner, gazing over 
the bulwark of a giant of the seas, in the 
twentieth century, was mistaken. 

Now, if John Matthews had not taken pas- 
sage on the Ocean Wave, he would never 
91 


92 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


have been mistaken for the husband and nat- 
ural protector of Marjory Ford under very 
startling circumstances. 

History has many notable examples of 
seeming trifles leading to great results. Are 
we not told that if the nose of Cleopatra had 
been shorter, the face of the earth would 
have been changed? If an inflammatory 
fever had not smitten Mirabeau, or a cannon 
ball had killed Napoleon Bonaparte, or, 
again, a tile from the roof only fallen on the 
head of Robespierre, public events of nations 
would have taken a ditferent course. 

Thus, John Matthews, serious student of 
Egyptology, becoming dry and brown, like 
the mummies of ancient tombs and museums, 
whose society he sought, spectacled and 
slightly bald, took ship for New York, intent 
on compiling a new dictionary of hieroglyph- 
ics and arranging a course of lectures on 
recent excavations in lower Egypt, with ref- 
erence to interesting afresh an enlightened 
public in the labors of Sir Flinders Petrie. 
At the age of forty years, he sometimes as- 
sured himself that he failed wholly to fulfill 
two of Tolstoi’s five conditions of happiness: 
founding a family, and free and affectionate 
intercourse with all sorts and conditions of 


TYING A KNOT 


93 


men. He had no leisure for such expansion. 
Among the trees of the great human family 
John Matthews was apparently destined to 
be neither elm, ash or poplar, to he married 
to the vines festooned from branch to branch, 
according to early Roman belief, but the 
plane tree called Coelebs, the confirmed 
bachelor. 

Genoa watched from her palaces, gardens 
and heights crowned by fortifications the 
eddies of life on her margin of shore. The 
cargo boats came and went, like shuttles 
threading the great loom of commerce, the 
seas, laden with coal, cotton, iron and in- 
dustrial materials, the nondescript tramp 
steamers from North America and Australia, 
and that ever-suggestive phase of change, 
the lessening of sails. An animated throng 
of humanity hastened to the port, coming by 
the railways from the Alps and northern 
Italy, by way of the two torrents, the Bisagno 
and Polcevera, or along the shore to the sta- 
tion of Santa Limb ana, where the porters of 
the quays sorted all these parcels, as it were, 
and carried them on board the waiting ships. 
Rival of Marseilles, Antwerp and Rotterdam, 
Genoa watched the pilgrims embark on the 
Ocean Wave that August day, the caravans 


94 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


of travelers, the groups of sad emigrants 
seeking another home, the bands of devout 
brotherhoods returning from a visit to Eome 
to distant portions of the New World. Here 
were the usual young couples on their honey- 
moon journey to Europe; students on uni- 
versity tours ; dramatic artists intent on 
reaping fortune in the States; the haughty 
American prima donna of assured reputa- 
tion, and the eager aspirant from the Milan 
Conservatoire or Florence, longing to try 
her wings; the foreign resident who jumps 
the ditch at least once a year. Every va- 
riety of feature and character was gathered 
here — grave, careworn and gay, lank and 
sorrowful poverty, dapper and luxurious 
opulence, tragedy and careless mirth. 

What a day may bring forth! Genoa ac- 
cepted the present occasion as similar to all 
others — ^summer heat merging to languid au- 
tumn — in the bustle of departure of a trans- 
atlantic steamer, yet was destined to recall 
the most trifling incident afterwards. 

The happiest man in the crowd of the port 
was Mr. Eobert Harrington Ford, otherwise 
known as Father. He was going home. 

His offspring had recently discovered that 
he possessed so much name, and were firm 


TYING A KNOT 


95 


about a new visiting card for the European 
tour. 

The happiest woman amidst the multitude 
struggling to count bags and wraps was Mrs. 
Eobert Harrington Ford, otherwise known 
as Mother. She was going home. 

The worthy couple were convoyed by three 
daughters, respectively, Gertrude, Harriet 
and Marjory, and a small son, Frank, aged 
ten. These bore some traces of the strife of 
an active campaign of travel, the hand-to- 
hand conflicts for precedence in corridor 
trains, the delays at the guichet, the tipping 
of the wrong porters, the nightmare dreams 
in noisy hotels of losing trains and tickets; 
but were, on the whole, undaunted in spirit. 

“We are not millionaires to travel in au- 
tomobiles,’’ said Gertrude, ruefully. 

Many years ago the famous Florentine 
Filippo Strozzi uttered these memorable 
words: “But times are changed, and now 
the goslings lead the geese to water.” 

If the goslings of the sixteenth century 
were thus disposed to rule, how much more 
the downy fledglings of the twentieth cen- 
tury who wing their way over land and sea 
at pleasure, or assert themselves at home in 


96 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


the university and the wide arena of field 
sports ! 

These goslings had set forth fluffily, wear- 
ing white boas, on a six-months tour of 
Europe. The grey and black feathers of the 
goose mother were a trifle bedraggled as she 
obediently waded through all the mud-pud- 
dles of the way. These goslings longed to 
lead the parent geese further afield, to 
Greece, Algiers or Palestine. In travel they 
had been darkly reticent as to tales of ob- 
struction on railways, highwaymen, brigands, 
pickpockets. 

‘‘Oh, please don’t tell mother,” piped the 
goslings on all occasions. 

The beguiler on the highroad invariably 
manipulated the goslings as the actual power. 
Father, an Argus at home and a mole abroad, 
allowed the children to take the lead. The 
goslings brought a harvest of trinkets with 
them, their own kodak impressions of men 
and places, a gallery of picture cards, and a 
surprising knowledge of kings and queens on 
their thrones, as well as the eccentricities of 
princes. The youngest, Frank, became 
speedily the linguist and interpreter of the 
party, after the manner of small boys. He 
was to be relied upon to adjust any question 


TYING A KNOT 


97 


of contraband chocolate at a frontier by con- 
suming the delicacy, as well as despatching 
all bunches of grapes of the luncheon-basket 
in avoidance of possible complications with 
distrustful vine-growers. He would not have 
hesitated to follow the example of the trav- 
eler Vaillant, who swallowed precious medals 
to avoid the Corsairs, when taken prisoner 
at Algiers. 

Marjory Ford was not aware that John 
Matthews was in the world, much less a fel- 
low-passenger on board the Ocean Wave, 

‘‘Homeward bound, eh!^’ exclaimed Mr. 
Ford in joyful accents, as he stepped on 
board the vessel. 

“Yes; thank heaven!^’ echoed Mrs. Ford. 

The good lady timorously rehearsed all the 
possibilities of a voyage. The steamer col- 
lided with an iceberg, ran on a derelict, and 
caught tire from combustion of jute in the 
cargo before she gained the deck. 

At noon the Ocean Wave departed from 
Genoa, the captain, a thickset man of reso- 
lute bearing, in command, the Marconi wires 
adjusted, the band on deck, and the electric 
light in readiness to sparkle on luxurious 
salons, cabins and corridors. 


98 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


II 

Marjory Ford stood beside her little 
brother, gazing at the Spanish coast. The 
day was clondless and calm, and the evening 
hour approaching. 

‘^Now we are leaving Europe!” exclaimed 
Marjory. should like to take a bath in 
mid-ocean, as that girl did last year from 
her father ^s yacht.” 

‘‘Jolly!” assented the boy. 

He lost his cap, and the quiet gentleman 
beyond, also gazing at the coast of Spain, 
caught and restored it. 

“Oh, thank you a thousand times!” said 
Marjory, smiling. 

‘ ‘ Modern speech ! ’ ’ mused J ohn Matthews. 
‘ ‘ That is nine hundred and ninety-nine times 
too many thanks for a slight civility.” 

His thought strayed to the first interna- 
tional congress about to be held at Geneva 
for discussion of a universal language, Es- 
peranto, by five hundred representatives of 
fifteen nations. He scarcely noticed that the 
young girl at his side was slight, graceful and 
freshly colored on cheek and lip, and alto- 
gether pleasing to the eye. 

Hark! What had happened? A sudden. 


TYING A KNOT 


99 


grinding crash shook the Ocean Wave from 
how to stern, then the vessel seemed to pause 
motionless, in suspense, and then to heel 
over and begin to sink, as if cut in two 
halves. A tumult of confusion, noise, and 
an indescribable panic of terror ensued. The 
captain was seen on the bridge one moment, 
and hurled far out into the sea the next by 
the force of the explosion of a boiler. John 
Matthews felt the deck slope beneath his feet, 
and all the ship’s gear about him reel, totter 
and clash together in ruin. He clung in- 
stinctively, desperately, to the railing to re- 
cover himself, while people rushed past him 
and scattered in all directions. A boat was 
lowered before his very eyes, speedily crowd- 
ed by clamorous men, and capsized. Some- 
one clung to him in speechless fear: it was 
the young girl who had recently stood at his 
side. The deck sank, settled under them with 
an incredible, appalling rapidity. Before he 
fully realized the peril, John Matthews was 
in the water with his companion. Every- 
thing had crumbled, changed and disap- 
peared around them. The human savage, re- 
vealed in all the nakedness of cruelty, 
brutality and a blind selfishness to gain help 
by such a crisis of danger, wrangled fiercely. 


100 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


pushed them aside, snatched at any frail 
support. The noble and saintly in humanity, 
revealed in self-abnegation of supreme sacri- 
fice, made way for the weak and helpless, and 
sank in silence to the shadowy depths of 
ocean. 

‘^Can you swimT^ demanded John Mat- 
thews. 

think so,’’ faltered Marjory. 

‘ ‘ Swim, then. ’ ’ 

The next instant she put her hand on his 
shoulder and gasped : ‘ ‘ Oh, I can ’t ! ” 

‘‘Don’t be afraid! I am here,” he re- 
torted. 

Then all the youth of Marjory Ford rose 
up before her startled vision, scarcely un- 
folded, scarcely begun, and a great wave of 
oblivion swept over her, blotting out every- 
thing. With the man it was different. He 
was not guilty of the cowardice of pushing 
others aside, hut he held his own resolutely. 
His whole being was strung to the utmost of 
will and muscle not to be defeated by the dis- 
aster which had so suddenly overwhelmed 
them. He was not ready to die! The young 
girl cast on his care must not he suifered to 
perish miserably. If all the others were 
drowned they two should he saved! He 


TYING A KNOT 


101 


fought for both! In the soul of man two 
sorts of courage are ever to be found: that 
of Siegf rid and another of Manfred ; the first 
rejoicing to preserve life and the second dis- 
daining death. John Matthews set his teeth 
firmly and battled with the sea, holding Mar- 
jory close. 

Another girl, with long tresses of golden 
hair loosened in the waves, and a face as fair 
as that of Marjory, drifted near and made a 
frantic effort to grasp his garments. John 
evaded the clutching fingers and she was 
swept away. An Italian woman held her 
two children on a hoard, imploring rescue for 
them. An old priest was upheld by a life- 
belt. A young and vigorous man overtook 
and tore away the girdle, adjusting it around 
his own body instead, while the first wearer 
disappeared. Why not? It was only a sur- 
vival of the fittest. John Matthews closed 
his eyes, involuntarily, and pursued his way 
to more open spaces. He was blindly and 
dumbly aware in a strong undercurrent of 
action which sustained and bore him along 
that he had never before known what life 
was, and the value of the priceless boon until 
it was possibly to escape him. 

Time ceased. Either he had been battling 


102 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


with the waves for hours, or the agony of 
the moments was leaden, interminable. Un- 
less a change came he felt he must inevitably 
succumb. The girl at his side was silent and 
inert. She was so light a weight that he 
could guide her passive movement of obedi- 
ence almost with a touch. He would not let 
her go ! That was his one remaining instinct. 
All was growing shadowy about them in a 
chill twilight, as of evening, and then the 
darkness of night fell. 

Later, a Spanish fishing boat, intent on 
rescue, picked up a man and woman, well- 
nigh spent with exhaustion. The man first 
rallied under the kindly aid of these rough 
mariners, with their simple restoratives. In 
turn he eagerly applied himself to reviving 
the delicate girl. 

‘‘How he loves her,’^ said the swarthy 
captain in his dialect, with the natural chiv- 
alry of southern races, as he held a cup of 
aguadiente to be administered with a spoon. 

“Eh! They are newly wedded, one can 
see,’’ responded a sailor, bringing such 
woolen garments as the humble wardrobe of 
the crew could boast to clothe these be- 
numbed guests. 

“She lives!” exclaimed John Matthews, 


TYING A KNOT 


103 


hoarsely. ‘‘Surely she would have died hut 
for me!’’ 

Marjory opened her eyes and smiled. 
John Matthews did not know that a girl’s 
eyes could be so blue and soft, with depths of 
confidence and gratitude. 

At midnight they were put ashore on a 
lonely strand, where there was a solitary 
habitation of the coast. Here they were wel- 
comed by a group of men and two women, 
who proffered the meagre hospitality of this 
shelter. The women busied themselves in 
warming Marjory and drying her garments 
to the best of their ability, with subdued ex- 
clamations of sympathy over her plight, and 
much pantomime. The men lent similar aid 
to John Matthews. Then the couple were 
urged to partake of some food. Both com- 
plied with difficulty. The place consisted of 
a single room with an earthen floor. No mat- 
ter! They had gained land, the reach of 
human aid, and there was a roof over their 
heads. Their hosts next spread some straw, 
loosened from a bundle, on the ground, and 
arranged such covering as they could mus- 
ter, and invited the waifs to repose. One of 
the sailors made John Matthews understand 
in a few words of broken English that he 


104 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


must wait until morning light to be taken to 
a town. In the meanwhile the craft of the 
coast were out searching for other victims 
of the accident. Some of the ship’s crew or 
passengers might he brought ashore at any 
moment. 

Marjory sank down on the improvised 
couch with a sigh of weariness, and was soon 
asleep. John Matthews kept vigil with his 
companions. He detailed to them his own 
version of the disaster in a mixture of 
tongues, French and a smattering of Italian 
and Spanish, aided by much gesticulation, 
while the group of men hung on his words. 
From time to time one or two of the number 
went out to scan the waters and listen. The 
women heaped fragments of driftwood on 
the fire, kindled on an open stone hearth to 
cook the evening meal. The flames, fitful and 
feeble, lighted the rude interior. Finally the 
men wrapped their cloaks about them and 
stretched themselves on the floor. John Mat- 
thews, broken with fatigue, followed their 
example. Apprehensive of the development 
of the morrow as to the fate of his recent 
companions, he was already inspired with 
hope in his own personal safety. 

The women prepared him a place beside 


TYING A KNOT 


105 


Marjory on a sort of couch of honor consist- 
ing of the loose straw. They brought him 
another weather-beaten mantle, and spread 
one of their own thin shawls as an additional 
covering over Marjory’s shoulders, their 
dark, heavy-featured faces beaming with 
solicitude. 

These good people should not give me 
the best place,” thought John Matthews with 
compunction. ‘‘However, I can yield my 
resting place to the next comer, who will need 
it more than I do. The fishermen are likely 
to pick up more people in the water before 
dawn. ’ ’ 

He had no intention of sleeping, or even 
reposing. His brain was too active and 
crowded with the images of fear and despair 
so recently surrounding him. The dreary 
hours of night must wear away. That was 
all. He need not sutler the agonies of doubt 
and misgiving as to the fate of kindred on 
board the ill-fated vessel, kept in suspense 
by the separation of darkness ! The accident 
had snapped every link with those of the 
Ocean Wave for him, save a fellowship of 
human feeling. He tasted the contentment of 
the solitary man in a supreme degree, at the 
moment, that he was alone. 


106 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


‘‘Thank God! I had no one to lose,’’ he 
said in his heart. 

Interest in his companion had not yet as- 
sumed the outline of curiosity as to her per- 
sonality and belongings on the ship. 

Gradually a gentle current of warmth and 
grateful somnolency stole over his senses, 
lessening the tension of over- wrought nerves. 
The soft, regular breathing of the young girl 
at his side acquired a rhythmical sound ; her 
silky hair, still perfumed, brushed his face. 
His haggard eyes closed. The occupants of 
the habitation were quiet, and outside the 
sea moaned a dirge for the lost. 

Suddenly John Matthews awoke. The 
light of another day permeated the place 
with a feeble, sickening sense of returning 
consciousness of present events. The young 
girl had arisen, and the women were bestow- 
ing caressing attentions on her, striving to 
smooth her tresses and adjust her raiment 
in some sort. Her eyes were bright and a 
touch of color had returned to her cheek 
after the refreshment of sleep. She glanced 
at John Matthews with a sharp frown. 

“They are quite mistaken,” she said. “I 
speak very little Spanish. They believe that 
I am your wife. They call me a bride — a 


TYING A KNOT 


107 


sposa. Tell them that I never saw you be- 
fore in my life. I don’t even know your 
name. ’ ’ 

He regarded her in a dull and fixed way 
for a moment, then rose slowly to his feet. 

‘Ht does not matter much what they 
think, ’ ’ he said, mechanically. 

Marjory flushed deeply with astonishment 
and fright. She scanned her companion with 
a wondering disapproval. 

‘^But I will not have it! Absurd!” ex- 
claimed the girl, and gave a little stamp of 
her foot on the ground. 

John Matthews stretched himself, as if to 
be reassured that he still possessed the use 
of all his limbs, and rubbed his right arm, 
which showed a discolored bruise above the 
wrist. 

‘^What is your name!” he inquired. 

She was surprised. 

am Marjory Ford, of course,” she re- 
torted. ‘‘Why, you know father and mother 
and the girls, don’t you!” 

“I never met them,” he rejoined. He re- 
frained from adding: “I never heard of 
them.” 

“What is your name!” she flashed back, 
petulantly. 


108 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


John Matthews/’ 

do not know the name,” she murmured, 
doubtfully. ‘‘Perhaps father has met you — 
somewhere. ’ ’ 

“Look, lady! He has hurt his arm,” in- 
terposed one of the women. 

Marjory approached him swiftly. 

“Oh, I am so sorry! I was taught first 
care at school. Do let me tie up your wrist 
in a handkerchief.” 

“It is nothing,” he said, but suffered her 
to wrap the bandage skillfully around the 
swollen member with an odd sense of giddi- 
ness and unreality, as if the world had turned 
upside down. 

He followed the men to the shore to learn 
more of the shipwreck, and discuss a means 
of personal deliverance. When he returned 
he found Marjory crouching in a corner in a 
reaction of depression. She clung to him, 
demanding: “Where have you been? I 
feared I had lost you. Oh, don’t leave me 
alone with these strange people. I seem to 
have only you in the world. Promise not to 
forsake me!” 

“I promise,” he said. 

On the following day a strange company 
gathered in the Spanish port of refuge. 


TYING A KNOT 


109 


These were the survivors of the wreck of the 
Ocean Wave, The unexpected guests were 
lodged in the clubs, hospitals and theaters, 
and were ministered to, fed and clothed by 
the authorities, nay, an entire people, so 
readily does human sympathy expand under 
similar circumstances. The most varied ele- 
ments of cheerfulness in assured safety and 
anxious dejection in painful suspense of 
waiting were discernible at a glance in these 
strangers, brought together by a common 
fate. Here a feeble and bent old man sought 
in the crowd his three stalwart sons, and did 
not find them. There a young man, pale and 
desperate, strove to realize that he had lost 
his wife. A family of children, rescued by 
the courage of a young girl, awaited recogni- 
tion, their parents being unknown. The 
groups, unharmed, and with no member 
missing, looked on with commiseration of 
affliction, yet awaited escape, uneasily, from 
a painful scene. Others, bereft of every- 
thing, remained stunned and silent. Hours 
passed. The grim spectre of two facts con- 
fronted all: The Captain, hurled from the 
bridge of the vessel far out into the sea by 
the accident, in the explosion of the boiler, 


110 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


was never seen again, while a hundred of the 
company did not reach the shore alive. 

Mr. Ford waited in the midst of the throng 
with his wife and two eldest daughters. The 
perils of a speedy rescue had been compara- 
tively slight for them. When the Ocean 
Wave began to sink the family was trans- 
ferred by boat under the direction of a ship’s 
officer to a French vessel waiting nearby. 
Father refused to embark until joined by 
Marjory and Frank, who had gone forward 
on the deck. The officer hurried him off with 
the assurance that his other children were 
already on board the French vessel. 

^‘A lie! Let me go back and find them!” 
shouted Mr. Ford, beside himself with alarm. 

He was forcibly restrained as one de- 
mented. The officer hastened away, and the 
family hung about him. They were con- 
veyed to the town with many others. Mrs. 
Ford refused to take refuge in any shelter. 
She waited, hoped and prayed for the restor- 
ation of the children still missing, while the 
girls hastened to inspect each new party of 
the rescued brought in for those they sought. 
Father roamed about, unceasingly, question- 
ing officials, sailors and haunting the tele- 
graph office for news. Other passengers de- 


TYING A KNOT 


111 


tained him with eager interrogation of the 
quest, and begged him to help them with 
their own. All the world was kin in the 
Spanish town that day. 

Gradually the features of Mr. Ford grew 
grey and pinched as he returned in silence 
from each of the fruitless journeys to the 
side of his stricken wife, who sat with her 
face buried in her handkerchief, prepared 
for the worst. Alas ! The little blonde head 
of Frank was not recognizable among the 
children fetched into port, either limp and 
senseless or unhurt, nor did the blooming 
countenance of Marjory reward their anx- 
ious scrutiny. The two daughters, terror- 
stricken as well, strove to support their par- 
ents. They whispered together. 

^‘Oh, Harriet! To think we coaxed these 
poor, old dears to come abroad. How per- 
fectly awful!’’ groaned Gertrude. 

^‘And they did not want to come a bit,” 
added Harriet in deepest contrition of spirit. 

‘‘Can it be possible ” 

“No, no!” 

Father came back from his last quest and 
shook his head. The sun was already de- 
clining. 

‘ ‘ I begin to think it is no use, ’ ’ he said. 


112 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


Gertrude wrung her hands and pointed to 
her mother. 

am quite sure they are safe — only a 
little delay/’ urged Harriet in cheerful ac- 
cents. 

Gertrude uttered a cry. 

Marjory stood before them, holding the 
arm of a stranger. The family beheld her 
safe, well, and brought hack from the cruel 
sea. Explanations ensued. Mr. Ford 
grasped the hand of John Matthews. The 
two men understood each other at a glance. 

‘‘You have saved my girl! How can I 
ever repay you?” he said. 

Mrs. Ford submitted to Marjory’s caresses 
and regarded her companion coldly. 

“Where is Frank!” she demanded, shrilly. 

Marjory and John Matthews recoiled and 
looked at each other in dismay. Instinct- 
ively they drew nearer, as if standing to- 
gether in sharing any blame. Mrs. Ford did 
not spare them. 

^^You helped yourselves and let the child 
drown ! she added with flashing eyes. 

In the twilight a man made his way 
through the public square, holding a paper. 
It was a despatch. All eyes turned on him 
with a hungry intelligence of questioning, 


TYING A KNOT 


113 


and he was speedily surrounded by a clam- 
orous throng. Mrs. Ford glanced at him, 
rose and stepped forward. 

^‘He is coming for me!’^ she exclaimed in 
a voice of indescribable emotion. 

Yes, the messenger presented a telegram, 
smilingly. A yacht off Gibraltar had picked 
up a small boy fastened to a board. He 
lived, and his name was Frank Ford. 

After that the crowd made an ovation of 
congratulations for Mother. Women of all 
classes and other races took her hand, and 
even kissed her on the cheek. 

Thank you, friends,’’ she said. ‘‘He is 
my only son.” 

The three daughters sobbed in unison, 
in 

The fate of the Ocean Wave remained 
shrouded in profound mystery. The trans- 
atlantic giant, equipped with every appliance 
of speed, safety and luxury, at the very out- 
set of a voyage in fine weather and at a fa- 
vorable season of year, which was a holiday 
trip to the majority of the passengers, had 
burst, shattered to fragments by some 
mighty force greater than steel plating, 
steam or electricity, broken in halves and 


114 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


sunk beneath the waves. Such was the 
catastrophe which seemed to mock at the 
skill and courage of man. The affair was a 
nine-days’ wonder. Particulars of the dis- 
appearance of other steamers, under similar 
circumstances were detailed at length in all 
lands. The example of the Naronic was in- 
stanced. The press of the entire globe was 
occupied with the matter in bulletins and 
leaders for a space, and then the next rail- 
way collision in Great Britain, America or 
France obliterated the impression on the 
public mind. The world readily forgot the 
Ocean Wave with the destruction by fire of 
an exhibition building or the assassination 
of a sovereign. Naval boards and nautical 
conventions met in grave debate over the de- 
plorable disaster. The results were not 
wholly divulged to an unenlightened public. 
Eumor linked together the usual marvelous 
tales of anonymous letters emanating from 
the Mafia, containing threats that the Ocean 
Wave, as next on the list to sail, in revenge 
for some injustice to emigrants of the com- 
pany to which the ship belonged, should 
never quit the gateway of the Mediterranean 
for the Atlantic Ocean. Treachery in the 
hold seemed to find here another solution. 


TYING A KNOT 


115 


Assuredly cases of dynamite had been put on 
board with the cargo, the sinister box of 
complicated machinery set and timed to go 
oft at a certain hour after departure and 
sink a ship. The deed was planned and car- 
ried out by the dark hatred of blackened, 
tortured souls verging on insanity in brood- 
ing over the wrongs of poverty, oppression 
and destitution. 

The fustian hates the velvet, says the 
proverb. 

Far too many of the passengers on the 
Ocean Wave were habitually clothed in vel- 
vet, and regarded sullenly by the fustian in 
comparison. 

Genoa watches the ships come and go from 
her heights of palaces and gardens. The fair 
city will not again look down on the depart- 
ure of the Ocean Wave, 

The goslings of the name of Ford led the 
parent geese back to the paternal roof in 
safety, a comfortable dwelling in a block, 
with a garden patch in the rear and a bal- 
cony covered with a wistaria vine, situated in 
the environs of Greater New York. 

Father hied himself joyfully to the office 
and the club, gathering up all the threads of 
an active life once more. Mother bustled 


116 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


about her kingdom, unlocking bureau draw- 
ers and opening closets to ascertain if any 
wicked fairies bad spirited away her house- 
hold treasures during her absence. 

The fatted calf did honor to a guest. The 
Fords had insisted on bringing John Mat- 
thews home with them when they landed 
from the steamer which had transported the 
survivors of the shipwreck to New York. 
At first the invitation was refused, but he 
was overruled by hospitable warmth and 
feminine kindness. 

‘^You come right home with us until your 
arm is mended,’^ said Mr. Ford, heartily. 
‘ ^ Mother is a famous nurse, and our old Ann 
knows all the lore about sprains and bruises 
of the north of Ireland.’’ 

Mrs. Ford was disposed to adopt John 
Matthews as only another member of the 
family on the spot. Was there not an ele- 
ment of remorse in maternal benevolence for 
her first coldness to Marjory’s protector 
when she believed that her boy was lost? 
The younger generation was less demon- 
strative, passive, possibly critical of paternal 
effusiveness, and even abstracted in the 
manifold interests of getting home. Mar- 


TYING A KNOT 


117 


jory beamed on him, and gently patted the 
lame arm. 

come borne with us/’ she whispered, 
confidentially. 

The heart of John Matthews was melted 
in his breast. Marjory’s presentation of this 
champion to her relatives had been eminently 
characteristic of her years. 

‘‘This is John Matthews. He saved my 
life in the sea, and has taken care of me all 
night on that lonely shore, where the people 
were strange, and called me his bride. He 
has hurt himself cruelly, carrying me along, 
and he never uttered a word of complaint. 
You must remember it all your lives!” 

“My dear girl,” protested John Matthews, 
“another man would have done the same 
thing in my place. Besides, you thanked me 
in advance. When I captured your broth- 
er’s cap on deck you thanked me a thousand 
times. Consider all the rest as if I handed 
you a cup of tea or a box of chocolate bon- 
bons. ’ ’ 

Marjory opened her eyes. She had for- 
gotten the incident. 

The despot of the mansion was the re- 
stored son. His reminiscences of the acci- 
dent were already vague and fragmentary. 


118 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


unless a lively childish imagination kindled 
with the subject at the expense of veracity. 
When he got into the sea an old sailor, the 
one who stood beside the bulwark when they 
all came on board at Genoa, fastened him to 
some woodwork washed overboard. Prank 
did not see the good old sailor again. The 
boy thought that a great, big wave went over 
his head just afterward. He was hungry 
and tired and cold for a long time in the 
water before some other sailors came along 
in a boat and picked him up. No! He did 
not stay in that boat. He was taken on 
board a yacht, where everybody was kind, 
and gave him milk and jelly and wrapped 
him up in a wadded silk Japanese dressing- 
gown to sleep on a couch, and the lady who 
owned the yacht wished to adopt him for her 
own little boy. 

‘^The idea!’^ exclaimed Mrs. Ford with 
indignation. ‘‘Just as if you had been some 
poor little ocean waif. ^ ^ 

Prank disengaged himself from the ma- 
ternal embrace. 

“A man bumped against me in the sea,’’ 
he continued. “He was all dark and stiff. I 
said to him in French, ‘What do you want!’ 


TYING A KNOT 


119 


He did not speak. Perhaps he was dead. 
Ugh 

There, sonny,’’ admonished Father. 
^ ‘ That will do ! J ust run oil and play with 
the children next door.” 

The youngest gosling lingered. 

‘^We are going to Egypt to see mummies 
next time,” he announced with juvenile un- 
concern in the present situation. 

John Matthews lingered in this congenial 
atmosphere of domestic contentment with a 
sense of well being such as he had never 
known. He delayed seeking his acquaint- 
ances and colleagues until his wrist should 
be quite well, under the care of Marjory and 
her mother. He talked with Ann about the 
old country while she ministered to him, and 
discovered, with the deepest interest, that 
they had mutual friends. A skillful surgeon 
or a visit to the hospital would have speedily 
set him to rights, but he preferred feminine 
nursing, and adhered to the belief that per- 
fect rest is a complete cure for most of the 
ills of the flesh. In this state of invalidism 
and enforced idleness, Mr. Ford proposed 
to send a clerk from the office with his type- 
writing machine to assist with all corre- 


120 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


spondence. Lo! John Matthews accepted 
Marjory as his amanuensis instead. 

will write all your letters and post 
them,’’ she said. 

‘ ^ How good of you ! ” he sighed, with deep 
contentment. 

He spent hours dallying over the task, 
leaning hack in an arm-chair and watching 
Marjory at work. Discussion of the contents 
of the letters arose, and the personal history 
of those addressed. Marjory was interested, 
and even carried away on the current of new 
ideas by the task. There can be no doubt 
that sober and taciturn John Matthews 
waxed animated and most eloquent in the 
company of this quiet listener as certain 
birds spread their finest plumage before the 
fair sex. 

The goslings criticised the intruder on the 
home circle when they met for a chat in their 
dressing-gowns before going to bed. 

‘^He does not seem as awfully old as he did 
at first,” said Marjory, meditatively. 

^‘He has grown younger,” Gertrude as- 
sented. 

‘^You have aged in proportion, child,” 
added Harriet. 

After that awful night of the wreck I 


TYING A KNOT 


121 


wonder my hair has not turned grey/^ said 
Marjory, tragically. 

The weaving together of the knot went on. 

One morning Marjory came down to break- 
fast looking pale and abstracted. John Mat- 
thews was dull of aspect as well. 

dreamed last night of being in the 
water, all alone with you,’’ she said. 

‘^Strange! I was battling with the sea,” 
he replied. 

Mr. Ford read an item aloud in the morn- 
ing paper. The body of a girl, with long, 
fair hair, had been recovered, drifted as far 
as Oran. 

‘‘Possibly she was the girl who caught at 
my sleeve in passing,” exclaimed John Mat- 
thews. ‘ ‘ God forgive me ! I turned to avoid 
her. ’ ’ 

“But you had to save me,” urged Marjory. 

They looked at each other. 

“What happened to the Ocean Wavef^* 
questioned Mother. 

“Who knows?” said father. 

The Egyptologist remained in America 
for one year. His character seemed to have 
undergone some subtle change. He was rest- 
less, undecided, did not succeed with his 
course of lectures, and progressed but slowly 


122 


A LIFT ON THE EOAH 


with his dictionary. During this period he 
led Marjory through the mazes of ancient 
religions. 

^‘Only see her hang on his every word as 
he describes the tomb and temple of the great 
god Procyneme/^ scoffed the sisters. ‘‘She 
will be making offerings of perfumes, oil and 
cakes to the shades of the Pharaohs.^’ 

When the student returned to the Nile he 
asked Marjory to accompany him, and she 
consented. 

Ah, old sailor, is there no new way of tying 
a knot? John Matthews and Marjory Ford 
believe that circumstances led them to tie 
the nuptial knot in a most unusual way. 


THE DURESS FLIGHT: AN AUTO- 
MOBILE INCIDENT 

The little town of St. Anna is a picturesque 
nook of shore near Savona. This miniature 
paradise nestles under the rampart of en- 
circling hills, with a promontory on one side 
crowned by a stone pine tree, a tiny harbor 
and a group of time-stained, dilapidated 
houses with rusty balconies and irregular 
stone steps leading to upper terraces and 
gardens. A fine church of ornate architec- 
ture and tower furnished with sonorous bells, 
dedicated to the saint, flanks the public 
square. The railway threads the margin of 
Mediterranean sea^ — one of the arteries of 
the world — an iron serpent coiling in and out 
of the curves, and pierces the adjacent prom- 
ontory by means of a tunnel. Trains pass at 
all hours of day and night, rushing like phan- 
toms into the tunnel, or halting in the sun- 
shine of noon for local traffic. Above is the 
smooth provincial road of majestic suggest- 
iveness, which also follows the line of shore. 
Ancient Borne once hewed out a highway 
here, whether via Emilia, or the Flaminian, 
123 


124 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


or Aurelian Way from her gates to France, 
the Alps, and the Adriatic. 

Five years before the date of which we 
write St. Anna had been awakened to mod- 
ern life by the selection of a terrace of hill- 
side beyond the hamlet whereon to build a 
villa for the Buca della Luna. The noble gen- 
tleman was understood to be out of health, 
a prey to the neurasthenia and anemia 
of the century, and wished to dwell apart and 
undisturbed by the sea. He was a stranger, 
a native of Lombardy, and belonged to a very 
ancient family. The town of Santa Anna 
knew little concerning the Duke, but accepted 
the fact that he wished to live here as most 
natural, albeit gratifying to local pride. 
What more suitable than that a noble lord 
who had probably burned the candle at both 
ends, as to his nerves, in a career of society, 
clubs, sport and the theatre, should choose 
Santa Anna for tranquil repose? The villa 
was a plain structure of a pavilion style, con- 
sisting of one story, with an ornamental roof, 
massive walls tinted white, and surrounded 
by a covered portico. The windows were 
spacious and protected by artistic iron work, 
suggestive of Italian prudence in country 
houses. The rear of the mansion formed a 


THE DUKE’S FLIGHT 


125 


gallery of colored glass for bad weather. 
Curiosity could not penetrate the seclusion 
of this glass gallery, which was further 
screened by silk hangings. The invalid could 
smoke here, play billiards and cards, or 
listen to music executed by some violinist or 
pianist while he reclined on luxurious cush- 
ions or sat in an arm-chair. Again a parlor 
organ would resound through the hours of 
night with a volume of sound, said to be 
played by the Duke himself, or a French horn 
prolonged to echoes. 

A high wall of solid masonry enclosed the 
property, armed with gilded spikes on the 
top, and entered by an iron gate lined with 
sheets of metal and secured by a small lock. 
The space between wall and house boasted 
of no garden parterres, conservatories and 
shrubbery, but had only a central gravel 
path. Stable and outer buildings there were 
none, only a modest garage for several auto- 
mobiles of various models and quarters for 
attendants. No women were included in the 
household. 

The installation of the Duke here had been 
truly an event for townfolk. He organized a 
fete for the children in the tiny piazza flank- 
ing the church of Santa Anna, with booths of 


126 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


toys, games, a table spread under an awning 
of pastry, cakes and dolce, with fireworks in 
the evening and an illumination of the facade 
of the sanctuary. He bestowed gifts of 
charity on the hospital and the poor through 
the ministrations of the parish priest and the 
Confraternity of the Black Brotherhood of 
Mercy. He mingled with the crowd in a most 
gracious mood. He possessed Mirabeau^s 
gift of familiarity, capable of speaking to 
royalty without offense and to the peasant 
without patronage. The Duke was tall, thin, 
sallow and cadaverous, with an eccentric 
manner, now vivacious and humorous, and 
then silent, abrupt and frowning. His fea- 
tures were aquiline, his eye piercing and 
restless, and his abundant grey hair stand- 
ing on end above a low forehead, as only the 
thick locks of the Italian can bristle. He re- 
sembled one of the portraits on the bronze 
medals in museums, the Malatesta of Eimini, 
or the Sforza of Milan, haughty, subtle and 
unscrupulous. 

The festivities of his installation over, he 
withdrew into complete seclusion. He re- 
ceived no visitors. The interior of the villa 
had not been seen. He shunned the sea, and 
was not a good sailor. On land his activity 


THE DUKE^S FLIGHT 


127 


was remarkable. He took long rambles in 
the hills for his health, accompanied by his 
secretary, a robust man of middle age, and 
followed by his confidential valet, carrying 
a picnic basket, a kodak and the case of a 
botanist. An ardent bicyclist, he was absent 
for hours on his wheel. He abhorred the 
railway, while soothed by long journeys in 
his automobile, guided by a stalwart chauf- 
feur, while he reclined under the hood, pas- 
sive and wrapped in a mantle. He went and 
came at pleasure. Sometimes he departed 
at nightfall on the most powerful motor, and 
was absent for weeks and months. Again he 
would appear suddenly and linger until sum- 
mer heat brooded over the sea. Old Mario, 
mayor-domo and family servant, left in 
charge, suave, amiable and discreet, guarded 
the very threshold of the villa from all in- 
trusion. Public curiosity had only this one 
theme to deal with, over the fishing nets, the 
going out of small craft, the weekly market. 
What a sad loss that the noble lord did not 
enjoy a yacht! Now he was at a spa in Sa- 
voy, Mario said. He did not sleep well, poor 
gentleman, after the manner of the gentry. 
One day the town received an electric shock. 
Modern enterprise passed that way and dis- 


128 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


covered the paradise too long hidden from 
the builder. The architect speculator chose 
a picturesque site, and the Grand Hotel St. 
Anna rose, with balconies, spaeious corridors 
and electric light, as if by magic, advertised 
in all the leading journals of the world, with 
Franz Hoffman, a retired courier of cosmo- 
politan origin, as proprietor, and an English 
wife. 

Dr. Edwardes came along the Eiviera on 
his hicylcle, with his bag slung over his shoul- 
der, knapsack fashion. He went to the sta- 
tion to look up his luggage, just as the 
afternoon train arrived, and Mrs. Warren 
Lindsay descended from a first-class car- 
riage, leaving her niece, Kate, to drag forth 
heavy bags, cases and wraps for the porter 
on the platform below. 

‘^Permit me to help you,’’ said Dr. Ed- 
wardes, involuntarily. 

The girl, fiushed and weary, beamed her 
gratitude from the step in a glance that 
shone down into the soul of the recipient like 
a ray of sunlight penetrating the depths of a 
well. No girl had ever looked at him like that 
before! Both were astonished, pleased and 
strangely moved, as by a sweet recognition. 
Who was he? Where did she come from? 


THE DUKE^S FLIGHT 


129 


Each stepped forth out of the unknown. 
Mrs. Warren Lindsay, large, stout, and 
pompous in bearing, with a ball of yellow 
fur known as her dog. Fluff, tucked under 
her arm, looked about blandly. 

‘‘Lovely scenery!^’ she said. “It is like a 
drop curtain of the theatre. Where is the 
Duke ’s villa I ^ ’ 

Then she demanded of Dr. Edwardes if he 
had been sent from the hotel. 

‘ ‘ Oh, aunt ! ’ ’ expostulated Kate. 

“A pretty girl!’^ was his swift mental 
comment. “The aunt is a selfish old jade!’’ 

How fortunate it is that we do not realize 
the actual opinion of us held by our fellows ! 

The first season in this earthly paradise 
promised well. The landlord and his wife 
looked at each other with satisfaction. The 
architect speculator passed that way and 
hinted at a lawn tennis court in the near 
future and golf links later. Already the re- 
proach was dreaded amidst the roses, myrtle, 
tamarisk and citron bloom of the gardens, 
with the sparkling sea outspread, of there 
being “nothing whatever to do.” 

The landlady, who had been a lady’s maid 
in her time, knew her clientele, was reas- 
suring as to fuel and extra charges, served 


130 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


cream with the matitudinal grape nuts of 
the American invalid, and saw to the toast 
and jam of the five-o^clock tea of the Eng- 
lish matron of a gouty tendency, who wished 
the church bells silenced in winter resorts 
and the waterfalls checked in summer haunts. 
Did she fail in the jugs of hot water for bot- 
tles, encased in red flannel hags, of bedtime 
for the wearers of silk stockings? She de- 
scribed to newcomers the Duca della Luna 
and his villa, and such histories of his illus- 
trious family, as well as the fetes he gave to 
the town, as charmed all listeners. 

Thus November passed. The ladies came 
here to rest. They attired themselves in 
wrought needlework of lace, tulle chemi- 
settes, silver embroideries and silken drap- 
eries to an unusual extent, even in our day. 
Failing an audience, they must he said to 
have dressed at one another. The style of 
attire made them suspicious of draughts 
over a rheumatic shoulder and distrustful of 
all central heating. 

‘‘These women are not half clad; not one 
of them,’’ thought candid Eoyle Edwardes, 
with professional intuition. “Strong, and 
of a tough fibre? Eather! Why, a man 
would die of pneumonia with his neck cut 


THE DUKE^S FLIGHT 


131 


down like that, warmed by a muslin frill, and 
his arms bare above the elbow ! Fate did not 
intend me for a fashionable physician. I 
should not be able to earn my bread.” 

Mrs. Warren Lindsay took precedence of 
all others. She overwhelmed and put down 
everybody by the variety of her dresses, the 
size and eccentricity of her plumed hats, the 
marvelous pattern and colors of her shoes, 
canes and parasols. Elderly, egotistical and 
aggressive in her self-importance to all the 
world, she aspired to carrying high the na- 
tional American banner of being the best 
dressed woman in any company. At Santa 
Anna the other ladies were utterly bewil- 
dered and crushed by the revelations of each 
new trunk opened, but, at the same time, 
deeply fascinated. They flocked about her 
and talked mellifluously while they studied 
her trimmings. She was aware of it, and en- 
joyed their discomfiture. She explained to 
them who she was and the distinction of her 
family from colonial days. She had no maid. 
Indeed, economy with her amounted to avar- 
ice, and there was written in her cold, grey 
eye, wide and coarsely cut mouth and heavy 
chin a determination not to be cheated by 
anyone. The duties of her niece, Kate, were 


132 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


onerous, night and day, including the care of 
Flutf, the dog. Mrs. Warren Lindsay had 
decided to travel after the death of an in- 
valid husband. She invited a niece to ac- 
company her, as courier, linguist, account- 
ant, reader, letter-writer and nurse in one, 
combined with a due sense of deep gratitude 
for these privileges. Kate was the eldest of 
a bevy of bright, energetic girls, daughters 
of a country clergymen, given a college edm 
cation. The lot of choice had fallen to her. 
Santa Anna found her an insignificant young 
person, very simply gowned in comparison 
with her wealthy relative and patroness, 
usually under a cloud of vexation, with knit- 
ted brow, after some fresh tempest of mis- 
understanding and discontent. Proud and 
refined by nature, accustomed to the gentle 
influences of her own home, the girl was too 
honorable to gratify the curiosity of strang- 
ers by telling tales of her aunt^s peculiari- 
ties. 

wish one of the other girls had come in 
my place,’’ she confided tearfully to her pil- 
low. ^ ^ I did not lose that twenty-franc piece 
out shopping! I am not considered a thief, 
I suppose.” 

Kate found a valuable ally in the landlady. 


THE DUKE’S FLIGHT 


133 


once Ellen Spriggs, who lent aid as a clever 
tire-woman, on occasion, and delighted to 
display her skill to so promising a client as 
Mrs. Warren Lindsay. 

Eoyle Edwardes was not a man of society, 
although he had been about the world a good 
deal in his profession of surgeon in the navy. 
He was on leave to recuperate after long and 
hard service. He found himself in the agree- 
able position of the one man at the Hotel St. 
Anna, amidst a party of nice looking ladies, 
who were as a down coverlet to his masculine 
susceptibilities after roughing it on a polar 
expedition. Oh, he trod on the thyme, 
geranium and violets of delightful apprecia- 
tion on the Mediterranean shores in that 
balmy feminine atmosphere. If the ladies 
pricked each other smartly in tart criticism, 
armed with Mrs. Browning’s little housewife 
case of envy, satire and suspicion, which 
every woman is supposed to possess. Dr. Ed- 
wardes was accorded only genial encourage- 
ment of favorable pursuits and aims, as he 
was led to promulgate them in the intimacy 
of daily intercourse. His opinions on reli- 
gion, science and all international amenities 
were listened to respectfully, if met with 
much sprightly banter of the table d’hote. 


134 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


His projected volume of polar travel was 
discussed with a zealous sympathy that no 
female globe-trotter could hope to inspire, 
while his medical dictionary, compiled as a 
sort of hand-book, was warmly praised. 

‘^You are all very kind,’’ said this honest 
and simple-minded man, basking in the 
warmth of the Cote Azure after his Arctic 
experiences. Then he fled on his bicycle, 
seeking the tonic of exercise, after partak- 
ing of a diet of honey. 

Kate Lindsay, the youngest member of 
the company, was an exception to the rule. 
She did not flatter him, held aloof, was silent 
and preoccupied, if not absent altogether. 
She interested him. He was perplexed by 
her indifference. 

Mrs. Warren Lindsay accepted the only 
man on the premises coolly. She had not 
much use for him, although she smoked her 
cigarette on the terrace with him after din- 
ner for lack of a better cavalier. 

The Duke arrived at his winter residence. 
The erection of the new hotel had displeased 
him. He threatened to abandon the nook 
and sell the villa. His mood had changed, 
apparently, or he submitted to the inevitable. 
He inspected the Grand Hotel, praised the 


THE DUKE^S FLIGHT 


135 


arrangements, and announced Ms intention 
of dining at the table dMote. He sent a gift 
of game from his own property in northern 
Italy, hare, deer, partridges and thrushes, 
with wild boar of the Maremma. 

A small table was set in an embrasure, 
profusely adorned with flowers. A ripple of 
excitement pervaded the dining-room as the 
noble gentleman strolled in, attired in a grey 
walking costume, with his hands thrust neg- 
ligently into the outer pockets of his coat. 
He seated himself at the small table, with 
his secretary opposite, and conversed in an 
undertone, inspecting the company mean- 
while. Ah! Youth, with a bloom on cheek 
and lip, carried otf the palm in that fair 
gathering of elaborate coiffures and toi- 
lettes. Kate Lindsay, slight, erect, in her 
simple dress of cream-colored stuff, with a 
crimson rose in her softly coiled dark hair, 
and another attached to her corsage, gift of 
the hurried landlady, at the last moment, 
attracted the restless gaze of the Duke. Ee- 
sentment filled the soul, swift, profound, un- 
reasonable of Eoyle Edwardes. The Duke 
sought the lighted salons after dinner, 
mingled with the strangers, spoke French 
and English with charming affability, and. 


136 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


selecting Kate for his especial homage, 
urged her rendering Chopin on the piano. 
The secretary stood near. Kate played a 
nocturne nervously, and escaped by the bal- 
cony out on the terrace with Fluff. Dr. Ed- 
wardes approached, smoking a cigar. 

makes me afraid when he looks at 
me/^ she said, with a shiver. 

‘ ^ Strange ! Perhaps you are too shy, ’ ’ re- 
marked her fellow-countryman, gratified by 
her dislike of a titled foreigner. 

Mario, the major-domo, and a man-serv- 
ant waited in the shrubbery. Kate and 
Eoyle Edwardes saw the secretary through 
the window speak to the Duke, and both 
emerged into the mild and fragrant night. 

^^Now go home at once,” said the secre- 
tary, briefly. 

‘Hf you wish it,” said the Duke in a sub- 
dued tone. 

They went away with the major-domo and 
the servant following. 

^Hs the Duke distrustful of being at- 
tacked by brigands going home!” demanded 
Dr. Edwardes of the landlord. 

'‘Surely not,” replied Monsieur Hotf- 
mann, easily. 

The Duke became a frequent visitor at the 


THE DUKE’S PLIGHT 


137 


new hotel. He often dined there and par- 
took of the choicest delicacies the cuisine 
could muster, with an airy indifference. He 
lingered in the garden, where the ladies sat 
in arbors with their embroideries and writ- 
ing desks. He was amused, mocking and in- 
gratiating by turns. The little dog. Fluff, 
retreated under a chair at his approach, and 
growled. He took up a guitar and sang a 
little French song all about life being a vain 
trifle compounded of a little love and a modi- 
cum of hatred, and then hon jour, adding 
that life is brief, a little hope, some dreams, 
and then hon soir. Much pleased with him- 
self, he twisted his moustache and looked 
around for applause. Again he admired the 
pattern and tints of feminine work, the rain- 
bow meshes of silk and wool, wrought on 
needles of tortoise shell, taken from the 
depths of velvet bags, with spellbound in- 
terest in the white hands and rings of the 
laborers, and followed the design of lace 
making, and thread drawing of linen, or the 
tapestry of altar cloths, mediaeval chairs and 
piano covers. The ladies were enchanted. 
In these delicate attentions he conveyed es- 
pecial appreciation of the woman addressed. 
An evasive listener, he delighted in declaim- 


138 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


ing verse, Dante and Shakespeare, and 
mimicking actors. The audience listened 
attentively, although they did not always un- 
derstand his words, as he lapsed from one 
language to another. Occasionally he lost 
the thread, and wiped his brow, when the 
secretary would prompt him or draw him 
away. 

^^That secretary is an excellent man, and 
so devoted!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Warren Lind- 
say. 

Altogether the erratic movements of the 
great gentleman were interwoven with day- 
dreams. The ladies become deeply inter- 
ested in the study of II Patriziato, as an 
equivalent of the peerage. They learned 
that the Bella Luna race had the right to 
bear on their coat-of-arms three bands of 
gold, and three stars, with six rays, and 
were of prodigious antiquity, with cavaliers, 
princes, dukes under the Pope, patricians of 
Venice and citizens of Naples of their num- 
ber. He craved sympathy for his wretched 
health. 

“He needs a woman’s influence,” said 
Mrs. Warren Lindsay. 

An eventful day came. Kate stepped 
ashore from a boat. The girl looked bright 


THE DUKE’S FLIGHT 


139 


and happy. Her aunt ’s new interest allowed 
her to take bicycle trips with Dr. Edwardes 
and excursions on the water. 

^‘You like the sea?” she inquired of the 
Duke. 

‘‘No,” he retorted. “The sea is cruel, 
and will never let you go if it grasps you. 
Ah, when the gale comes I set all the music 
going in my house — cats squeal, asses 
bray — ” He paused and sighed. “My poor 
head! I worship Hypnos, the god of sleep. 
I have his bust in my chamber, with the 
wings of a hawk above the temples. Ah, 
mon ame a son my store, ma vie a son secret,^* 
he waved his hand at the Swiss lady. 

“You keep pets at your villa,” said Mrs. 
Lindsay, blandly. “How I should like to 
see your glass gallery.” 

He gave her a glance of haughty surprise. 
The secretary took out his watch and inter- 
posed : 

‘ ‘ The glass gallery would not interest you, 
madame.” 

“I amuse myself there sometimes,” said 
the Duke, with a strange smile. 

“Now you must try the new Itala auto- 
mobile, ’ ’ urged the secretary. 


140 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


think you might take us all for a spin/’ 
said Mrs. Lindsay, archly. 

‘^So presumptuous of her,” said the 
chorus of ladies afterwards. 

An idea tickled the fancy of Mrs. Lind- 
say. Next day she attired herself in a cos- 
tume of white cloth, a snowy boa, a velvet 
hat with ostrich plumes, and a satin parasol, 
took a camp stool, and, leading Flutf, sallied 
forth alone. Kate sat in an arbor with 
Eoyle Edwardes. 

^‘May I write to your father and tell him 
all?” questioned the man with emotion. 

‘^Yes,” said the girl. 

Mrs. Lindsay planted her stool near the 
villa and began to sketch the building. 
Flutf, a capricious and petted little dog, 
wandered near, unconscious of doom. The 
new automobile waited before the gate. She 
made up her mind when the Duke went out 
she would bribe a servant to show her the 
house. The chautfeur bustled about and 
went into the garage to give some directions. 
The Duke came forth and sprang on the car. 
He saluted the lady and invited her to join 
him. She hesitated, flurried yet flattered. 

^^Let me take you to the hotel, at least,” 
he urged. 


THE DUKE^S FLIGHT 


141 


She climbed into the automobile. Fluff 
fled. 

‘‘Woman has need to be guided by man,’’ 
says the Italian proverb. 

Before she was aware of it the motor 
started. Stay! Where was the chauffeur 
and the secretary? There was a call, a cry, 
and a peal of wild laughter. Her ears rung 
and her lips grew parched. The Duke 
steered for himself. She managed to articu- 
late: 

“I will stop here, please.” 

He glanced at her over his shoulder, and 
cast away his straw hat. 

“Let us fly!” he cried. 

“Oh, stop him!” she shrieked. 

She saw the hotel glide away and vanish, 
the faces of people in the garden, the land- 
lord on the threshold, even the cook, in cap 
and apron, ladle in hand, gazing at her in 
helpless astonishment. In turn, these beheld 
the superb car dash past, the Duke manipu- 
lating the steering gear with reckless activ- 
ity, and a large female form in the rear seat, 
dressed in white. 

“Is it an elopement?” queried the gouty 
matron, sarcastically. 

The car gained the white road and moved 


142 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


with frightful rapidity. The occupants 
tasted that delirium of movement which is 
unlike all other human emotion of every 
sense, lost in space. The hillside faded, the 
sea stretched out in a line, above was the sky. 

^^Let us go to the end!’’ shouted the Duke. 
^‘Ha! they cannot ovetake us now!” 

He did not heed his companion, apparently 
he had forgotten her. 

The chauffeur put two other automobiles 
in gear and hastened after the Duke in his 
flight. Dr. Edwardes flung himself on his 
bicycle. Kate and the landlord followed in 
a carriage. The town trooped forth to a 
man. 

Lack of practical skill made the motor 
jolt and swerve dangerously at times. The 
road dipped to a bridge. Lo ! A small cart, 
drawn by a donkey and driven by a boy, 
blocked the way. The Duke essayed to 
sound the horn, turned sharply to pass the 
vehicle, struck the parapet, and the automo- 
bile toppled over the bank. The lady occu- 
pant was tossed out like a ball. The Duke 
clung to the wheel and burst into tears. At 
this moment the first pursuers came in sight, 
and soon the ducal household gathered to 
the rescue. 


THE DURESS FLIGHT 


143 


Mrs. Warren Lindsay was unnoticed. 
She managed to crawl to her feet, and sat on 
the damp ground until Dr. Edwardes gained 
her side, followed by her niece and the land- 
lord. 

am alive,’’ she said, with such dignity 
as she could muster. 

‘^Oh, aunt, what have you done with your 
head?” cried Kate. 

‘^My head?” gasped Mrs. Warren Lind- 
say. 

mean your hair,” said Kate, with sup- 
pressed mirth. 

The noble house of Bella Luna ignored 
the presence of the unfortunate lady as they 
rescued their chief from the overturned car. 
Her hat and hair had blown away, leaving a 
smooth poll exposed, and her laces were torn 
to ribbons. 

Why dwell on painful details of humilia- 
tion and disillusionment? 

Later, Royle Edwardes said to his bride: 

‘^The Duke was as mad as a March hare. 
Insanity in the family, probably. The villa 
was a prison with barred windows, the sec- 
retary a doctor, and the servants so many 
keepers.” 


















THE LUCK OF FRIDAY 

The Milan station had an nnnsual aspect of 
leisure on a morning of August. Why? The 
day was Friday. 

Lydia Halketh thought of it with a smile 
of amusement as she followed the porter, 
who carried her bags and wraps, along the 
platform. She was alone. A wanderer on 
the face of the earth, as she liked to con- 
sider herself, she traveled with companions. 
Perhaps it was sheer cowardice that made 
her choose a ladies’ carriage in this transit 
from Milan to Florence. She was aware 
that even in such safe retreat as the Dames 
Seules a robber may he concealed under the 
seat, and emerge with grimaces when the 
train is in motion, or a fellow-passenger 
prove to be a lunatic in female disguise, at 
a critical moment. 

Yes, she was all alone, and traveling on a 
Friday. Everybody at Paris and in Switz- 
erland said: ‘^Travel on a Friday in Italy 
if you are not superstitious as to ill-luck. 
You will not be crowded.” 

She was indifferent to good or had for- 
145 


146 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


tune, only who should she meet on the road! 
The manifold suggestiveness of a railway 
station, and the possibilities of a journey 
would present themselves to her mind, at 
the moment. 

^The patriarch with a silvery heard and 
the burly person of an imperious bearing, 
surrounded by a group of friends, looked at 
her as she climbed the steep step of the 
ladies’ carriage. She was accustomed to 
admiration in her slender grace of figure, 
clad in the mourning garb of a widow, and 
a fine head, enveloped in a veil. She remem- 
bered this searching scrutiny afterwards 
when she linked together the incidents of an 
eventful day. 

A youth detached himself from the party, 
approached the open door on tiptoe and 
stared into the compartment slyly. 

Native curiosity,” she thought, as the 
porter adjusted bundles and umbrella in the 
rack. 

The carriage was of ancient design, and 
might have been one of the earliest vehicles 
employed when the railway was ever in- 
vented. The interior was smutty and 
grimy beyond the average dilapidation of 
the Italian roads of the day, the cushions 


THE LUCK OF FEIDAY 


147 


covered with faded velveteen and the anti- 
macassar borders blackened by the smoke of 
many tnnnels. 

An official, wearing a red cap, inspected 
her ticket and closed the door. 

^^Tbe signora need not fear being dis- 
turbed or changed until she reaches Flor- 
ence, be said, blandly. 

Was bis civility forced or unnatural? 

The patriarch with the silvery beard and 
the burly personage, addressed as Baron, 
bad bestowed themselves in the adjoining 
compartment, after much leave-taking of 
the group of friends. 

The train moved slowly out of the station, 
and Milan, with suburbs of factories and 
long stretches of white walls, adorned with 
placard advertisements of the leading jour- 
nal, the Corriere della Sera (Evening 
Courier), was left behind. 

Lydia Halketb subsided into a corner and 
sighed. Her future seemed to extend before 
her like the Lombardy plains, monotonous 
and dust-laden. She was an orphan, and 
bad been an unwelcome intruder on the 
crowded household of an aunt in her native 
village among the Berkshire bills. Ten 
years before, Isaac Halketb, the manager. 


148 


A LIFT ON THE ROAD 


had followed her when she quitted the great 
ribbon factory, where she was given work 
with other girls. In her timid loneliness 
she was flushed, trembling, and desperately 
at odds with her surroundings. 

The traveler in the Milan train could live 
over that day again, with a fresh stab of 
acute pain in her morbid self-consciousness. 

The factory in the Berkshire hills was a 
great fabricator of something more than 
silken stutfs: the feminine nature was here 
tempered by the relentless machinery of ex- 
perience. The maiden Lydia, seventeen 
years of age, with a Greek profile, abundant 
blonde tresses and dilating blue eyes, was 
created by Nature for hand-work embroid- 
ery. 

Isaac Halketh, the manager, a dry, dark 
man of sedate middle age, with a bald spot 
on the top of his head and a keen glance on 
humanity, followed and questioned her, out 
of range of the factory windows. He had 
studied her since she was enrolled in this 
great hive of industry. She had never no- 
ticed him, in her preoccupation, save as an 
elderly person representing awe-inspiring 
authority, seated behind a desk, who paid 
her wages. Isaac Halketh told her, linger- 


THE LUCK OF FEIDAY 


149 


ing on the river hank, that she would not 
get on in the factory. She was too young 
and too pretty. 

^^You need a man to take care of you,’* 
he said. 

There are still women in the world of this 
old-fashioned type. Lydia married Isaac 
Halketh. She was passive and obedient, as 
became an orphan. Indeed, her preferences 
were scarcely considered in the matter. Her 
sphere was a narrow one, as mistress of a 
comfortable home. Her husband, silent, 
suspicious in jealous espionage, was already 
an invalid when he married, and required a 
docile nurse. Her little boy died. Left a 
widow, the spirit of Lydia Halketh rose in 
emancipation. She decided to emerge into 
the noonday, to mingle with the crowd, to 
see the world. Already she was weary of it 
all. She found Europe a great hotel, peo- 
pled by the moving shadows of strangers. 
On the whole she was disappointed and dis- 
illusioned with travel. The doggerel of the 
Comic Poet would chime a refrain in her 
brain: wish, and I do not wish, and what 

I wish I no longer wish.’^ 

The train halted, the door opened, and a 
stout Eussian lady entered, accompanied by 


150 


A LIFT ON THE EOAH 


a Swiss governess and child, while the hus- 
band sought a place in the smoking car with 
alacrity. How the carriage bounced and 
swayed! Lydia noticed a smell of spirits, 
alcohol or brandy, which she uncharitably 
attributed to the numerous luncheon bas- 
kets, cases and satchels of the newcomers. 
The Eussian lady, bedecked with turquoises 
on plump wrists and fingers, smiled amiably 
and held a frowsy Gollywog. The child, 
flung about by the gyrations of the train, 
uncovered a small bandbox and displayed a 
guinea-pig, asleep or dead, in stiff inertness. 
The Swiss governess, alert and vigilant, 
glanced sharply into Lydia’s portemonnaie 
when she opened it. 

^^Mon Dieu! The carriage might be de- 
raille!^^ exclaimed the Eussian lady. ^‘Are 
they mending the roadT’ 

^‘Mais, oui, madame/^ assented the gov- 
erness, abstractedly. 

At the next station the party left the car- 
riage to seek some country house. 

‘^Good-bye,” said the lady in English, 
and still carrying the Gollywog with real, 
wooly hair. 

Lydia was once more alone. No one knew 
her movements. She tasted the sweet ex- 


THE LUCK OF FEIDAY 


151 


citement of the modern woman in full inde- 
pendence of liberty. How the carriage 
swerved and tilted! The smell of spirits 
permeated everything, with an odd sense of 
heat. Life on the wing has compensations. 
The waiter at the Milan hotel had prepared 
for her a nice luncheon. She opened her 
basket on the opposite seat, took a delicate 
sandwich of fowl and tongue in one hand 
and a chamois-horn cup filled with white 
Capri wine in the other, when the door was 
flung open violently and the guard appeared. 

^‘Get out, and quickly!^’ he cried. ^‘The 
carriage is injured.^’ 

With these words he swept Lydia and her 
belongings, lunch-basket and all, out on the 
platform. The train had paused on the out- 
skirts of Piacenza. People hurried about; 
others looked out of the windows of their 
compartments and bought a journal. 

^‘What is the matter? What has hap- 
pened?’’ demanded Lydia in astonishment. 

No one replied. The guard frowned at 
her a moment, glanced right and left, gath- 
ered up her bags, and said: 

^^Come !” 

^^But where? What does it all mean?” 

She was unceremoniously assisted into a 


152 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


luxuriously appointed carriage on the for- 
ward portion of the train. The occupants 
were the masculine element, and the very 
atmosphere hostile to her feminine intrusion. 

^'Good God! Mary!'^ said a voice in her 
ear. 

Who had spoken? 

The patriarch with a silver beard was in- 
stalled in the best place in the compartment. 
The burly personage, addressed as Baron, 
had heaped all available seats full of his rich 
traveling gear — rugs, shawls, overcoat, cane 
and umbrella. Permitted to stow herself 
by the door, since she could not be thrust 
out, Lydia found her vis-a-vis, who had 
uttered an exclamation on her entrance, 
concealed by the open sheet of the Standard, 
held in fingers that trembled nervously. 

The guard demanded tickets. He looked 
harassed and on the defensive. 

wish a ladies’ carriage,” said Lydia. 

“There is no ladies’ carriage on the 
train,” replied the guard, curtly. 

The patriarch with the silvery beard pro- 
duced a neat card-case, opened it and dis- 
closed a fine photograph of himself, inserted 
in one side. The Baron followed his ex- 
ample. Both contemplated a portrait of 


THE LUCK OF FEIDAY 


153 


their own features, as in a mirror, with that 
sentiment of interest which is inherent in 
the human race, then glanced haughtily at 
their fellow-travelers. These portraits were 
the free pass on the railway of officials. 

‘‘The road is badly managed to-day,’’ said 
the patriarch, severely. “That compart- 
ment was out of repair and about to catch 
fire from the friction of the wheels.” 

‘ ‘ The chief at Milan would use it. He was 
warned,” said the guard, returning the pho- 
tographs respectfully. 

“I shall report,” fumed the Baron. 

“If you have no regard for the forestiere, 
at least you might consider the safety of 
your own people,” said the patriarch with 
injured dignity. 

“ It is not my fault, ’ ’ the guard protested, 
hurriedly. 

Friday journeying indeed! The rickety 
ladies’ carriage was a patched-up makeshift 
of locomotion, while a naval review in the 
presence of royalty drew crowds to Genoa. 
The Eussian matron would never know her 
own narrow escape of broken bones, or a 
sudden bursting into fiames of the car. 

Lydia’s vis-a-vis put aside the Standard y 
and they looked at each other with an invol- 


154 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


untary smile of comradeship. The situation 
was humorous. They were the strangers in 
a foreign land who should be first sacrificed 
in case of a railway accident. 

He was a dark man of wiry build and a 
bold, easy bearing, tanned by the sun of 
desert, sea and jungle. His garb was eccen- 
tric and distinctively British. He wore an 
odd cap on his grizzled hair, a plaided coat 
with a belt, and large fatigue shoes of brown 
leather. His walking-stick in the rack was 
of some knotted and characteristic growth 
of wood. A basket under his elbow held 
fruit and a small fiask of wine. 

Lydia recognized a type familiar the world 
over of the British military man, cool and 
keen in danger, endowed with great physical 
endurance, home on leave, and now return- 
ing to his post, a camp for drilling and or- 
ganizing recruits in the Burmese State. 
For the rest, sharply discontented with his 
lot, as a younger son of a good family, and 
foiled in laudable advancement by a crowd 
of rival competitors. A reticent man for 
the most part, and somewhat cynical, in ma- 
turity, as to the justice of his native land, 
and disposed to share the widespread opin- 
ion that emigration had taken away the best 


THE LUCK OF FRIDAY 


155 


portion of the population. Ah, why had he 
not chosen another career in his yonth — 
gone to Australia and New Zealand, or 
sought the Rocky Mountains! He was half- 
minded, now, to undertake an expedition to 
Thibet or Central Africa. He was strangely 
wistful for a veteran, at leaving Europe. 
Possibly he was growing old. A woman ^s 
face confronted him unexpectedly in the 
railway carriage, and seemed to emerge 
from the past. It has been truly said that 
the most uneventful life has its Waterloo 
and St. Helena. 

The train glided on over the fertile coun- 
try, with harvest fields on either side and a 
range of blue Apennine peaks in the distance. 

Lydia’s curiosity was aroused. Why did 
this sun-bronzed warrior start at her ap- 
proach, and even take refuge behind his 
newspaper to shut out the vision of her! A 
resemblance, no doubt. She threw back her 
veil the better to reveal the fair contours of 
her features. He started perceptibly and 
looked at her eagerly. The next moment 
she drew the veil closer, capriciously. His 
interest might be only simulated — a pretense 
to make her acquaintance. Here the patri- 
arch leaned forward and gently but firmly 


156 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


swept the curtain across Lydia’s window to 
exclude the sun, and buttoned it. The hos- 
tility ever inherent in the breast of the 
Anglo-Saxon man to a foreigner was 
aroused. The soldier glanced at the lady 
opposite, inquiringly, unfastened the cur- 
tain and drew it back. 

‘‘You need more fresh air in this stuffy 
box, I fancy,” he said. His eyes added: 
“An uncivil old buffer! Shall I punch his 
head for him?” 

“Oh, dear, no! Not on my account. I do 
not wish to blind a poor, old man with too 
much sunshine. Besides, he may be a prime 
minister,” responded the sweet, blue eyes 
of Lydia. 

Silence ensued. The Baron yawned. The 
patriarch put on a pair of blue spectacles. 
Lydia stole a glance at her neighbor. 

“I remind you of someone?” the blue eyes 
interrogated, sympathetically. 

“Yes,” the sharp, grey eyes responded, 
with a sombre, even haggard, glean in their 
depths. “I did not believe there was another 
woman in the world so like her. It is 
strange, incredible!” 

“And she is not with you now?” the clear 
orbs of Lydia mused, veiled by long lashes. 


THE LUCK OF FRIDAY 


157 


‘‘She is dead/^ retorted the keen eyes op- 
posite. “I was not kind to her. She found 
me out before she died. Another woman 
tempted me. She had no right. She was 
married, and we were in garrison. I took 
Mary from the schoolroom to escape the 
snare. ’ ’ 

Lydia Halketh sighed and grew paler. 
This man and woman, meeting by chance in 
a railway carriage, each sought to attain the 
art of Themistocles, not to remember, hut 
to forget. 

She forced herself to speak, and in a 
natural way. 

“I am quite sure you gentlemen would 
smoke if I had not been thrust in here. I 
suppose that comes of Friday traveling.’^ 

“Do you mind Friday U’ the Englishman 
required. 

“I am not quite sure,’’ Lydia demurred. 

“In that case you could escape the ill-luck 
of Friday by staying over at Bologna and 
visiting the St. Cecelia. It is my favorite 
picture,” he said, half- jestingly. 

She drew into her shell. 

“No. I have a horror of Bologna since 
that poor Count Ronmartini was murdered 


158 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


in his own home at noon, while all the town 
slept/ ^ 

Her neighbor bit his lip. The murder of 
Italian noblemen did not interest him just 
then. 

‘‘Bologna is a dull place,’’ he said. “I 
change there for Brindisi. You prefer Flor- 
ence ? ’ ’ 

“Florence? The wind is so cold and the 
streets dusty,” she said. 

‘ ‘ There is nothing whatever to do, I should 
say,” he assented. “They have golf now. 
You like Eome?” 

“Modern Eome is one round of afternoon 
tea and gossip,” protested Lydia. “Capri, 
Taorimina or Corfu are delightful.” 

“A winter at Corfu would not be so bad — 
with congenial company,” he said. 

Silence again ensued. She extended her 
little sceptre of feminine intuition to him. 

“You are going to the East? You are a 
soldier? What is it like to he a soldier, I 
wonder?” 

‘ ‘ A hard lot, ’ ’ he rejoined. 

“You know George Gissing said in the 
Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft that he 
would not he a soldier, and obey any man 
as his captain,” continued Lydia. 


THE LUCK OF FEIDAY 


159 


‘‘George Gissing was an ass/^ remarked 
the son of Mars. 

“I like his Ionian Sea and Henry Bye- 
croft/^ she said. 

“I never read the books. 

“Of course not/’ airily. “Soldiers are 
too busy fighting to read much.” 

He consulted his watch. They were ap- 
proaching Bologna. 

“Permit me to present myself,” he said, 
producing his card. 

She read : ‘ ‘ Captain Horace Cameron, 

E. E., Mandalay.” She did not proffer her 
own card in return. 

“Will you give me — nothing?” he plead- 
ed. “A souvenir of Friday?” 

A dimple lurked in Lydia’s left cheek. 
She sought in the pocket of her purse the 
tiniest coin in existence, a Lepton, the wid- 
ow’s mite of Scripture, which she had car- 
ried as a porte-honJieur since visiting Jeru- 
salem. ’ ’ 

“Will you accept a widow’s mite?” she 
queried. 

“I will gladly accept anything from you,” 
he said, taking the coin on his broad palm. 

The patriarch raised his eyebrows. The 
Baron shrugged his shoulders. The Eng- 


160 


A LIFT ON THE EOAD 


lishman regarded each in turn, with the 
whole British Empire behind him. 

‘‘May I find you a more comfortable car- 
riage for Florence r’ he urged. 

She shook her head. 

“I will remain here. One must take what 
they can get on a Friday.’’ 

“Henceforth I shall choose Friday in the 
week,” he said, raising his cap. 

“I wish you a very safe journey,” she 
said. 

She might have given him her hand. She 
thought of it afterwards. She looked out of 
the window in the dark station. He stood 
on the platform, a tall figure, and removed 
his odd cap. 

“I will come back,” he said. 

The train passed on in the direction of 
mountain tunnels, crags over river torrents, 
and lower Italy. The lonely woman heard 
above the shrill clamor of the locomotive 
whistle and the rustling of the wind and 
watercourses, the echo of a voice: 

“7 will come back/* 

He kept his word. 



mar 20 1913 








